


Pandora's Box

by VeritasYaoi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A dash of murder here and there, Anal Sex, Belltrix is one motivated lady, Body Worship, But only coz he loves his boi, Canon Divergence, Death Eaters, Diary fic, Draco Malfoy & Ron Weasley Friendship, Draco Malfoy behaves himself, Fluff and Smut, Harry Potter is a Horcrux, Harry is a beautiful boy, Horcruxes, Intelligent Harry, Lots of Touching, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Minor Character Death, Neutral Harry, No Underage Sex, No actual Drarry though, Oral Sex, Possessive Tom Riddle, Romance, Room of Requirement Shenanigans, Slight Belly Worship, Slow Burn, Slytherin Harry Potter, That doesn't make him an asshole though, Touching, Trust me it's just platonic stop squinting you won't find it, Who can blame him?, Who doesn't love those?, Wholesome Drarry Friendship, sexy talk, sometimes, tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-05-16 12:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14811107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeritasYaoi/pseuds/VeritasYaoi
Summary: When Harry finds an empty book in a hedge, he has no idea what he's picked up. With no idea of how it got there, or who left it, he takes it back home to under the stairs. It will change his fate in ways that cannot be imagined.This will contain eventual sex scenes and they will be STEAMY.





	1. In Which Harry Finds a Diary

**Author's Note:**

> You've probably read a million Diary!TomXHarry fics. And a million Slytherin!Harry/Dark!Harry fics. I've always wanted to write one. I jumped right into this one and I have sooo manyyy plannssss. I wrote the earlier chapters a few years ago so it'll probably get better as time goes on. I'm moving this over from FanFiction.net so if you see it on that site it's me, not plagiarised.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic is real

Harry Potter did not view himself as a particularly interesting individual. He thought himself less than attractive, his only good quality being his bright, green eyes that were unfortunately permanently covered by unruly hair. Harry couldn't draw wonderful things, or write beautiful words. He was less than average at school. He didn't have a lot of friends, and couldn't sing or dance well. The only thing he found himself to be remotely decent at doing was annoying his Aunt and Uncle, the Dursleys. He didn't even have to try to do that.

The ten-year old lived with his Aunt and Uncle in Surrey, in the nice neighbourhood of Little Whinging. They had a pretty house, with a delightful garden and a large conservatory. They lived a very comfortable life- except for Harry, of course. He was treated like a piece of dirt that the Dursley's couldn't wait to scrape from their shoes. The mild abuse he suffered at their hands was tolerable; he had never been struck, but to be complimented or praised for once would've been nice. Harry was always met with disapproval or irritancy. Despite this, he truly was grateful enough to have the roof over his head. To even consider running away was out of the question, as he knew he wouldn't last a night by himself. Harry often compared himself to Jane Eyre, a character from a book he read the other week at school.

It was an exceedingly normal morning on a particularly normal day. Mrs Dursley had struck her bony knuckles against the door of his cupboard, waking Harry from a rather pleasant dream about running through the corridors of a huge, ancient castle. He dressed as quickly as he could, banging his elbows on the underside of the stairs in the process. Harry didn't even blink. He had grown so used to this small space that bumps and scrapes were commonplace. Dashing out of the cupboard to make breakfast for his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin, he began another normal meal- lashings of bacon and eggs for everyone, and a small slice of toast for himself. After a quick clean-up of the pans and dishes, it was into the garden to work whilst Mr Dursley took Dudley to school. Harry had been suspended from school for two weeks. This had been regarding an incident involving Jam in the teacher's hair. Jam that had been thrown by Dudley, mind you.

Petunia busied herself with the laundry as Harry watered the flowers. Sighing, he shifted his gaze towards the sky, fresh with lilac, morning light and cottony clouds. He had always loved the sky. It was such a breath-taking, wide sweeping space; so vast that Harry had often wondered if there really were any other planets or stars out there. To him, it just seemed like endlessness. Harry sometimes caught himself thinking about why people were scared of what they didn't understand. Like why Dudley was afraid of the dark or why Petunia looked fearful anytime someone mentioned the supernatural. Harry himself loved thinking about things like that. His dreams would give way to vast, open expanses, where he was free to run as long and as far as he could possibly run. He was jolted from his thoughtful trance by Mrs Dursley's high shrieking.

"Harry! Harry, get inside!"

He turned off the hose and scuttled inside towards the harsh-looking woman, who had folded her apron away and donned her expensive-looking coat. As he approached, she sniffed indignantly and gave him a disapproving look.

"I'm going out shopping. Come, you're staying with Mrs Figg."

Five minutes later, Harry found himself in the fusty old house of Mrs Figg, trying to prevent cat fur sticking to his trousers as a large feline rubbed up against him. As soon as Mrs Dursley had left, she had offered him some tea, to which he politely declined. Her tea tasted of cabbage.

"Alright then, Harry dear. You can go out and play in the garden if you'd like."

He grinned, bolting out of the back door. The garden was the only good thing about Mrs Figg's house, in Harry's opinion. There was a huge hedge at the bottom where Mrs Figg couldn't see out of her windows. It had a small hole in the side, leading through a series of narrow tunnels made by himself. They wound through the shrubbery until it reached another street in the neighbourhood. He followed his tunnel, ducking as low as possible as to avoid branches getting caught in his unruly hair. Harry grinned. He loved that nobody else knew of his tunnel.

He found a spot in the middle of the network, huddling up against the branches. It was cosy and quiet, with just the right amount of light filtering through the dense foliage. Still grinning, Harry stuck his hand into a veil of leaves until the most part of his arm disappeared. He felt around for a few moments before placing his hand atop of the object he desired. The boy always hid a few things in here to play with, wrapped in a little plastic bag. Nothing special; just a variety of spinning tops, toy soldiers and a few pencils he'd been meaning to use. His hand brushed over something else. Harry jolted slightly, tugging at both items. The familiar bag came into view, along with something that perturbed Harry greatly- mostly because it meant he wasn't the only one who came in here and hid things. He checked his bag to make sure nothing was stolen. Fortunately everything was present and he went back to the new object.

It was an old book. He looked both ways, making sure no-one was watching from somewhere in the bushes. Someone could have dropped it accidentally, Harry thought, so the least he could do was see what was in it. He turned it over in his hands carefully as it looked fragile. The covers were dark leather, worn from use and slightly wet from the moisture of the morning dew. Harry opened it gently to inspect the inside for anything that might have indicated an owner. He was baffled when he found no such thing. Actually, he couldn't find anything. It was completely empty. Nothing. Not even a name scribbled anywhere, or any note of where it was made- just page after page of coarse, slightly-yellowed paper. It was obvious that it had never been used, so now Harry's only dilemma was what to do with it. Should he leave it there in case the owner came back? Should he take it? There was something appealing about the softened leather cover; cracked and floppy like it had been the dearest thing in the world to someone, yet held nothing inside. It sat lightly in his hands, as naturally as the sun sat in the sky. It wasn't like there was anything important written in it…surely it wouldn't be missed. He'd always wanted a notebook. Placing it to one side for later, Harry began to play with his toy soldiers before Mrs. Dursley came to pick him up.

"Harry! Harry dear! Your Aunt is here!"

At the sound of Mrs Figg's voice, Harry quickly stuffed his toys back into his bag. First the toy soldiers- there were twenty of them- plus five spinning tops, and three pencils; two coloured and one for sketching. Before he placed the last pencil in, he stopped to regard the book. It would surely give him something to occupy himself with when the Dursley's locked him in his cupboard. He stuffed the small book into his sock, the graphite pencil into the other and then scrambled out of his tunnel.

The rest of the day was filled with Harry's usual chores. At three-thirty, Dudley came bounding into the house with Mr Dursley demanding a bar of chocolate and knocking Harry over. The small boy picked himself up whilst Dudley snorted at him loudly, moving to the kitchen to prepare the dinner. After they Dursleys had eaten, he was given a small ham sandwich and locked inside his cupboard. They weren't to realise that this wasn't much of a punishment anymore, now that Harry had something to do. Once settled, Harry pulled the book and pencil from his socks and grinned.

In the dull light of his cupboard, the paper seemed to glow slightly. He brought it to his nose and inhaled. It smelled just like a book was supposed to; woody, crisp and slightly stale. Harry picked up the pencil and began to write his name on the front page.

_-My name is Harry Potter_

The boy beamed with pride at the scrawly, misshapen writing on his new possession. He quickly decided he would write in it every day. What would he draw first? He looked around his cupboard in thought; however, when his eyes returned to the page in front of him, he jumped. The space where had just written his name was empty. Shaking his head, he dismissed the event as a trick of the eye. The pencil mustn't have been touching the paper properly. He almost dropped the book when something began to form on the page. It was in a distinct, cursive script that was most certainly not Harry's handwriting.

_-Hello Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle._

Harry was speechless. His mouth began to open and close in awe. He turned it over, inspecting it closely for anything suspicious. When he found no such thing, Harry checked his temperature to make sure he wasn't sick. He knew that the ham his aunt had given him didn't taste right. The book seemed to sense his hesitation, for another note began to bloom on the page.

_-Tell me Harry, how did you come across my diary?_

The boy grasped his pencil and decided to jot down a reply. As a child, he was naturally inquisitive about such a fascinating object.

_-You're a talking book?_

_-I'm a person. I was trapped inside a long time ago. How did you come to own this book?_

Harry's mind flashed with the picture of a tiny old man running through the pages. He giggled.

_-I found it. Who are you?_

Harry was intrigued. How could this even be possible? How could someone be inside a book?

_-I do believe I have already told you. I am Tom Riddle. If you please, Harry, where did you find my book?_

Whoever he was, he sounded smart. The boy eagerly scribbled down his answer.

_-Sorry Tom. I have never met a talking book before._

Met? Was that the correct way to describe this peculiar happening? Harry mused, before continuing.

_-I found you in a hedge at the bottom of someone's garden._

The book paused, soaking in his words as he wrote them. Why someone would throw away such an amusing object was beyond him.

_-Thank you for picking me up, Harry. I'm sure I would have died of boredom if I'd been left there. How old are you, friend?_

_-10_

He sat there for a few moments, absorbing the situation. He couldn't think of any logical explanation to why the book was writing back. Truth be told, it scared Harry. It scared him almost as much as the time he had ended up on the roof after one of Dudley's bullying sessions, with no idea of how he got there. With all these things happening that Harry couldn't explain, it made him wonder if there was something very strange happening. He quickly shut the book and placed it under his bedding, pushing all thoughts of Tom Riddle and the diary from his mind.

It was three weeks before Harry went near the diary again. He had resumed school, much to the chagrin of the Dursleys and his teachers. By now it was June, almost the end of his last year at primary school and Dudley's birthday. Harry dreaded Dudley's birthday more than any day of the year. For the whole day he was forced to be Dudley's personal slave, doing everything at his beck and call. Last year Dudley had made him lick the ground. And if that wasn't enough, Harry had to endure his squeals of disapproval if he received a present he didn't like, cook his meals and prepare the house for the parties. After that he would be sent to Mrs Figg for the rest of the evening. At least that allowed him to escape from his cousin for a few hours.

Unfortunately Mrs Figg had tripped and broken her leg, and was unable to look after Harry. The boy had to watch as Dudley screamed and cried about how he didn't want Harry ruining his birthday, as Petunia fussed over him and simpered that she wouldn't let him ruin her "Dudleykin's" special day.

This brought Harry to the predicament he appeared to be in now.

The ten-year-old sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the tank. His overweight cousin had exclaimed the animal to be boring and dismissed it immediately, moving onto the next unfortunate reptile. Harry chortled to himself at the sight of Dudley's pig nose squashed against a tank. He wondered vaguely if the snake could see his cousin's tiny brain up his nasal cavity. At least the animals in here would have some amusement today.

The snake currently sleeping before him was a long, green boa, coiled into thick knots of flesh. The poor creature. Harry knew what it was like to be cooped up in a small space all the time.

"Sorry about him. He doesn't understand what it's like; lying there day after day, watching people press their ugly faces in on you."

Harry wished that he'd kept his mouth shut. He should've known that talking to animals is a sign of madness. The snake lifted his head from the rock it rested upon and winked.

"C-can you… _hear_  me?" It nodded as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Harry gulped, deciding a little conversation would not go amiss.

He also should've known that Dudley would've wanted to see the snake move. The small boy was violently pushed aside as Dudley pressed up against the glass, shouting for his parents to come look. Well. He  _was_  pressed up against the glass. Harry felt a surge of strangeness wash over him, fingers throbbing and head pounding. All of a sudden, the glass was no longer there. It has vanished, causing Dudley to fall forward into the water at the base of the tank. The snake slipped over the bar and onto the floor, stopping in front of Harry.

"Thanksss." It hissed. The snake talked. There was a snake talking to him.

"Anytime?" Harry replied, slightly convinced it might attack him were he not to give a response. He watched from his space on the floor as it slid out of the reptile house to a chorus of screams from other visitors. His attention turned to Dudley, who was standing up to exit the tank. Somehow the glass had re-formed over the entrance, leaving a screaming Dudley trapped inside.

Harry knew he would get the blame.

"There's no such thing as  _magic_!"

The door of his cupboard was locked shut with a loud 'click'. Harry remained silent, the sound of Vernon's shouts ringing in his ears. Appearing on the top of the building, his hair growing again overnight when his aunt tried to cut it, the glass disappearing…his luck was really starting to fail him. And that snake! He never realised that snakes could talk. Harry shook his head violently, recalling his Uncle's anger.  _There's no such thing as magic. There's no such thing as magic._

He sighed heavily before sinking down onto his thin mattress. The only way that he could see out his punishment was to sleep through it. Harry pulled his tattered blanket up over his shoulders, stretched his legs as far as they could reach, and closed his eyes. Perhaps his luck would improve tomorrow.

Sometime later, Harry was roused from his dreamlike state. The house was still, with naught but the sounds of the steady creaks of the heating breaking the silence. He lay curled in on himself, listening. There were no signs of movement from either up or downstairs. That meant everyone was asleep. Harry squirmed around to stretch, his legs aching from misuse. Arching his back, he lifted his slender hips from the bed and felt his spine give a satisfying crack. He grimaced as something dug into his shoulder. Dismissing it as the mattress, Harry tossed onto his other side. It was still there, now poking painfully into his ribcage. There was no way he could sleep with that-whatever it was jutting into his side. He grumbled, shoving his hand underneath the mattress to see if anything was there. Harry's fingers gently brushed against soft leather.

The diary.

He wouldn't deny that he was  _very_  curious about it, especially after what happened today. Harry grabbed it and huddled up in the corner, slightly reluctant to open it. The book looked innocent, sitting there in his hands. Who knew? Maybe Harry had imagined it after all. He carefully opened the first page. It was empty. The boy let out a sigh of relief, shakily smiling to himself.

_-Hello Harry._

That beautifully elegant writing appeared on the yellowed page, much to Harry's horror. So it was real. He fumbled around for his pencil.

_-How did you know I was here?_

He wrote incredulously. The diary simply responded with another gentlemanly reply.

_-I could feel your presence, my dear. For a while now, I have only felt the warmth of my surroundings, yet I could not feel you. Did I frighten you?_

_-Yes._

There was a short pause. His eyes lingered slightly over 'dear'. Tom must really have been an old man. Only Mrs. Figg called him dear, and she was old too. Harry was breathing loudly, expelling hot air from his mouth. He wondered vaguely if Tom could feel his breath. Could he feel Harry's hands lightly spreading across the cover? Or the pressure of his wrist on the pages, hand poised and ready to answer?

_-I apologise. It was not my intention to startle you._

Harry smiled.

_-Don't worry, stranger things have happened today._

_-Stranger things?_

The ten-year-old complied, eagerly writing down every detail of the day's events; save the talking snake, as Harry thought that to be stranger than everything. It might make Tom think he was weird. It was just nice to finally have someone to talk to. He found himself wanting to know about Tom- the colour of his hair, his eyes, his skin, the sound of his voice, height, age, background...Harry never thought he would be sat there pouring his heart out to a stranger. He wondered if Tom's hair was white like the old man down the road.

_-Harry, do you believe in Magic?_

_-My uncle told me it doesn't exist._

All of a sudden, the book became searing hot, scalding Harry's small hands and forcing him to drop it into his lap. He gave a small cry, surprised at the pain flaring through his fingers. There was a creak upstairs. Harry froze; silently pleading he hadn't woken his uncle. He sat rigidly, not daring to even breathe loudly. When he was sure no one was awake, he picked the diary back up and resumed his conversation.

_-Tom, what just happened? Your diary burned me!_

Harry checked his burnt hands, caressing the reddened skin. They were still tingling.

_-Please forgive me. I was angry. I must learn to control myself._

_-It's ok. Angry at what?_

Harry subconsciously stroked the crisp page, as if it would comfort his new-found friend. Whatever it was that had gotten Tom so furious must've been very serious.

_-Your uncle. He sounds like a typical, narrow-minded muggle._

_-What's a muggle?_

_-A non-magical being._

In his cupboard the boy blanched. Was Tom suggesting that magic was  _real_? Harry supposed it was the only logical explanation to the current situation, and the scenario at the reptile house today. All his life, strange things had been happening to him, and he had no idea as to why. Harry had always thought that he was just down on luck. Tom must have read his mind, because sure enough, another message appeared.

_-That is correct. Magic is very much real, Harry._

He knew it! The boy could hardly keep himself from crying out in triumph, revelling in the fact his uncle had been wrong.

_-Is that why I can talk to snakes? Is that a wizard thing too?_

Immediately, something felt off. The diary's words turned blurry in his grasp, almost as though someone had taken water to his writing. Why did he feel like he'd just said an incredibly stupid thing?

_-You talk to snakes?_

_-The snake I let out of the tank spoke to me._

Harry didn't manage to get another response from Tom that night, however much he tried. In the end, he decided to stash the diary away and sleep for the remainder of his punishment.


	2. In Which Harry Receives a Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck you Vernon we're going to Hogwarts and Tom Riddle talks like a creep

Harry woke up the next morning, receiving a thorough scolding from both his aunt and uncle for spoiling Dudley's birthday. He apologised with his head hung low. It wasn't as if they would believe he was sorry even if he was. After having to endure several minutes of shouting from his uncle, Harry was set just about every chore in the house.

He was stiff all over when he finally curled up on his thin mattress. His hands were sore from scrubbing, his back ached from bending over and there was a hungry throb in his stomach. Wanting nothing more than to stay in bed forever, Harry had slunk into his cupboard as the Dursleys retired to their luxurious bedrooms. Soon the house was filled with the unpleasant snoring noises of Vernon.

Tonight Harry would try to talk to Tom again. He had been thinking about the diary all day, thoughts of magic swimming around in the back of his skull. Thrusting his hand under the lumpy pillow, he searched for the textured surface of his book and pulled it into his lap. Harry wanted to know everything, and was glad he could practise his handwriting too. Tugging the pages open, the sound of his heart beating lightly in his bony chest filled the cupboard. He allowed the pencil to hover over the paper for a moment.

_-Hello Tom._

The granite stayed visible on the page, as clear as day. Harry waited a few more moments. After waiting for what seemed an age, his heart sank a little. He knew it. He just  _knew_ that telling him about the snake would make Tom not want to be his friend. Or maybe he had just been dreaming, and the diary never 'talked' in the first place. Crestfallen, Harry moved to shut the book. A flicker of black between the closing pages had his pulse quicken and open it again.

_-Good evening, Harry. I apologise for my rude behaviour yesterday._

He gave a small cry of relief, noticing himself become less tense immediately.

- _I thought you didn't want to be my friend anymore. Do you think I'm a freak now?_

_-Heavens no! Of course I want to be your friend, my dear._

There it was again. Tom had called him  _dear_. The only other person that called him that was Mrs Figg, and she was really old. Harry thought this to be especially weird, considering Tom was a man. Maybe Mrs Figg and Tom knew each other somehow. Harry giggled a little. Tom had probably just forgotten he was a boy.

_-Harry? What's wrong?_

_\- Do you know I'm not a girl?_

_-Does it make you uncomfortable when I call you that, Harry?_

Harry felt a little guilty admitting it, but it was undoubtedly strange.

_-Very well._

Harry managed to steer the conversation a little awkwardly back to the topic of the snake at the zoo. He could still vividly see those acidic eyes boring into his soul as smooth, dry scales gently brushed past the hands that anchored him to the floor.

_-I have been giving this much thought. I don't think it's anything to be worried about._

After that, he decided to drop the topic, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Tom was keeping something from him. Even if he was, Harry reasoned that he probably had a good reason. It was soon forgotten as his curiosity for other things took precedence.

_-Tom, would you tell me more about magic?_

Harry had kept in so many questions since last night about – it made him excited to even say the word in his head –  _Magic_. Did witches really have crooked noses? What do wizards wear? How could he learn magic?

_-Very well. What do you wish to know?_

He assaulted Tom with a barrage of questions as fast as he could write, but was forced to stop when his hands began to cramp painfully.

_-Harry, you must slow down. Start with one question at a time please._

_-Sorry.-_ Harry Sheepishly replied-  _How do I do magic?_

Just then, a soft tap like the falling of card onto carpet broke through the snores and gargles of his family upstairs. He froze, wondering for a moment if it was a burglar. Nothing. Harry wondered if something had fallen from the wooden radiator case. Time to use a trick he had recently perfected-opening the lock on his cupboard from the inside. His eyes scanned around the space, searching for the object that allowed him to do so. Momentarily they flicked over the pages of the diary, where something new had been written.

_-Harry? What's the matter?_

He hastily explained about the noise, before finding a long piece of hardened wire; the remnants of a large paperclip previously owned by his uncle. Harry had found that there was a small gap between the door and the wall, just big enough to fit a piece of wire through such as this one. The door itself had been worn loose on its hinges by Petunia's incessant rapping. This meant that if Harry pushed it as far forward as it would go, the lock became easy to slide backwards and forwards with the piece of hard wire. A little bit of practise had enabled him to do so very quietly. When the lock clicked free, he warily pushed the door open to peek into the hall. On the doormat lay something white.

A letter?

Who would post a letter in the dead of night? Curiosity tugged at his legs, pushing him from out of the cupboard and pulling him towards the door. He approached the letter and picked it up, constantly listening for irregularities within Vernon's snores, or the sounds of the suburban area outside. Harry's heart was pounding in his ears as he read the addressee's name.

_Mr H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

This letter…was for him? Who would have sent a letter to him? Harry barely knew anyone besides the Dursleys. Obviously someone had taken the time to write it and post it to him, so it must have been important. Clutching the letter to his chest, Harry almost vomited when he heard the huge, rumbling noise of his uncle getting out of bed. He scuttled soundlessly back into his cupboard, pulling the door shut behind him just as Vernon's footsteps reached the base of the stairs. He grasped firmly onto the wooden beams that ran over the top and bottom of the door, digging his nails into the wood and hoping to god that his Uncle wouldn't check the lock. The waddling, lethargic footsteps passed his door into the kitchen, where Harry heard glass on a counter and the tap running.

Harry felt sick. His arms had begun to ache from clasping onto the wooden beam tightly, and an uncomfortable dizzy sensation overtaken him. Vernon plodded back through to the hall and up the stairs. Harry felt the nausea sink as he heard his uncle's steps retreat back into the bedroom slowly. He let out a breath, before picking the diary back up and looking at the letter with interest.

_-What is it Harry?_

Tom wrote, writing elegantly scrawling across the pages beneath. Harry sniffed and explained about the letter, still greatly perplexed.

_-I have an idea as to what it may be. Keep it hidden. They will try to take the letter from you Harry._

He wrinkled his small nose. Why would the Dursleys want to take this letter away so badly? Harry knew they were mean, spiteful and hateful, but it would be  _too_  unfair to take away one of the few things Harry had ever received. Running his fingers over the back, something bumpy obstructed his touch. He turned it over, taking in a red wax seal with a peculiar emblem laid into it. Harry ripped it open in earnest.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL_

_of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

To say Harry was no less than shocked would have been a colossal understatement. The sender of this letter had answered several of his questions, but now even more had begun to pop into his mind like snowdrops from snow. Harry quickly copied the contents of the letter to Tom, who seemed to perk up.

_-I knew it. I'm very happy for you Harry. You will enjoy Hogwarts. I had a wonderful time there._

_-You went to there Tom?_

_-Indeed I did. It is exceedingly late. We shall talk about this tomorrow evening._

As if by sorcery, Harry let out a long, low yawn, suddenly growing weary from the night's events. He was still bursting with questions to ask his new friend, but the tiredness was starting to fuzz his eyes uncomfortably.

"I suppose I can wait 'til tomorrow." He whispered to himself.

_-Good night Tom._

The diary lightly warmed the palm that supported the leather cover, sending a few prickles across the surface of his skin. Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes.

_-Good night, Harry. Sleep well._

He folded the letter between the pages of his book, placing it underneath his mattress. When Harry put his head upon that hard, lumpy pillow, all he could think about was attending Hogwarts. Ideas buzzed backwards and forwards in his child mind; of pumpkins, bats and stars; of candles, robes, wands, hats, witches and wizards, all bustling around to classes. These ideas slowly serenaded him into the sweet caress of a gentle sleep, filled with dreams of endless stone corridors within an unfamiliar, ancient castle. In his dream, Harry lost himself in the never-ending void.

As the hot, summer days progressed, Harry found himself talking to Tom every single night. They mostly talked about Harry's family and how they treated him, but also of the wondrous school of Hogwarts and its magnificent history. Tom taught him of the four great wizards who founded it, and the houses that were named after them, whilst Harry read his flowing script with a childish eagerness.

_-What house were you in Tom?_

He asked, curious to know a little more about his enigmatic new friend. Tom rarely spoke of himself, especially when Harry asked. He had yet to find out anything about Tom's background, which perturbed him greatly.

_-I was in Slytherin. It is really a misunderstood house, unlike what you will hear from others Harry. I'd say that Slytherin rivals Ravenclaw in intelligence._

_-What are Slytherins like?_

_-Slytherins must show cunning, ambition and resourcefulness._

Harry liked the sound of this house more than the others. He didn't consider himself as fiercely loyal as a Hufflepuff, nor as sharp-minded as a Ravenclaw, and definitely,  _definitely_ not as stupid as a Gryffindor brave. Bravery hadn't gotten him anywhere so far. Standing up to the Dursleys was stupid and idiotic. Moreover, Harry didn't have clue how he would purchase any of the items on the uniform list- let alone the books, cauldron or the familiar. Where did one go to buy an owl, anyway? The Dursleys certainly wouldn't take him- that was for sure. Harry wasn't even certain that the Dursleys would allow him to attend Hogwarts.

_-If I'm going to Hogwarts, how am I going to get away from my family? And how will I buy the items I need?_

A small pool of panic had been sitting stagnant at the back of his mind for a while. What if they forbade him from going? Harry just knew he would burst if he didn't escape from them. There was no way he could join a normal secondary school now.

_-I have an idea Harry, but you'll have to do exactly as I say._

For the remainder of the night, Harry carefully followed Tom's instructions as best he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love a good bit of Slytherin fun.


	3. In Which Harry Cooks Bacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gives his family well-deserved heart palpitations

The next day, Petunia dropped Harry off at Mrs Figg's house whilst she, Vernon and Dudley went to visit some friends. Harry had quickly stuffed the diary and the letter down his sock, running straight to his hole in the hedge. There, he curled up with the diary and pulled out his plastic bag of toys. Tom told him tales of magical creatures, and Harry read intently. Then he coloured his friend a picture of a pixie in the back of the book.

_-I'm almost finished._

_-It's wonderful already Harry. Thank you._

_-I bet I could make it even better!_

He wrote, digging his hand into his bag to search for the final touch- blue pencil; however, his fingers brushed over another unfamiliar object. Harry pulled it out.

A golden ring sat in the palm of his hand. It felt heavy, most likely from the black stone that was set into the metal. Like he had done with the diary, he looked around to see if the owner was watching from a hidden place. Harry wondered if, it too, was magical. He slid the object into his sock, where it nestled next to his letter, and resumed colouring.

When the Dursleys came to pick him up, Mrs Figg bade him farewell- but not before pressing a lollipop into his fingers. Harry was truly grateful for this small gift, but knew that his uncle would confiscate if from him as soon as Mrs Figg could not see.

_\- There is nothing wrong with getting what you want. It is much simpler than you think,_

Tom told him that night, whilst they were discussing the ring and the lollipop.

_-You must use the situation to your advantage. I know you are capable of it. You are an intelligent boy._

Harry found himself blushing slightly.

_-I believe the best course of action in this circumstance is to make yourself the victim. Say for example that your Aunt's friends have come to visit. You would like something that you are not usually allowed. Ask for it whilst they are present, and she is less likely to refuse in fear of looking cruel in front of them. Could you do that, Harry?_

He sucked on the end of his pencil, frowning in concentration. Tom's words made perfect sense- there was no reason why he couldn't have what should really be his.

The next hour or so was spent talking about the ring. A series of lines, delicately engraved into the surface, ran across the surface in a serpentine fashion. Harry told Tom all about the stone, which, at certain angles, was clear; at others it was a deep smoky-grey. A strange pattern carved into the stone caught his attention the most. It was a triangle, separated by a single line that ran from the top peak and finished perpendicular to the base. Within the triangle was a circle, touching the straight sides only just. Tom seemed particularly intrigued by this piece of jewellery, exclaiming to Harry that he knew naught of it save the fact it was a very old item. He persuaded Harry to keep the ring, so he slipped it back into his sock. He smiled, albeit a little crookedly. It was like someone was leaving beautiful presents for him. At first, he had felt a little wrong when he took the diary for himself, but this time Harry had felt no remorse whatsoever.

The day after that was a strange day in late July; the air was dank and heavy with moisture, and the grey clouds masked over the suburban landscape like a film of grey oil. The misty vapour that shrouded Little Whinging that day did nothing to lower the recent temperatures. They had been soaring high ever since the seventh month had begun, so the inhabitants of Surrey did naught but stay indoors with their electric fans on high. Those brave enough to venture out into the humid air would find themselves with frizzing hair and a sheen of sweat forming across their brows.

Petunia was situated on the living room sofa, a large, white plastic fan standing to the right of her head. A cool breeze blew against her dark hair, which was slightly less orderly than usual, much to her irritation. Harry was more than happy to oblige when she ushered him into the front garden to water her plants. Dudley sat next to her with his podgy legs dangling over the side of the cushions, his eyes kept firmly glued to the television. His cousin's snorts of laughter and Vernon loudly complaining about the 'ruddy weather' through the open front door were heard from time to time.

A little while later, whilst watering the pots that bordered the street path, he spotted what seemed to be a small, unopened packet on the ground. Picking it up, Harry inspected the front of this curious item. Chocolate stars!

"MUUUUUM! HARRY HAS SWEETS!"

Dudley, who had appeared at the door, bounded across the lawn and grabbed the packet out of his hands. Harry was pushed over on the gritty pavement.

"Harry dear, are you alright?" The wizened voice of Mrs Figg drew his attention to the elderly lady who was standing above him, a concerned expression on her features. Remembering what Tom had told him, Harry began to cry; a tactic Dudley used fairly often when he wanted something. "There, there! What happened?"

He sniffled loudly as she helped him up, giving a small peek at the incredulous, stupid look on Dudley's face. Petunia and Vernon joined him from the doorway.

"What in the bloody hell is going on!" Grumbled Vernon, face red and dripping with sweat. Harry's heartbeat accelerated. Pointing a finger at Dudley, he grasped another hand around the sleeve of Mrs Figg's blouse.

"He pushed me over and stole my sweets, Mrs Figg!" Harry proclaimed. He watched as the woman turned towards Dudley, who had already opened the bag of chocolate. She sent him a scornful look. Vernon and Petunia stood behind their son, almost as flabbergasted as he was.

"That wasn't very nice, Dudley. Aren't you going to give it back?" Mrs Figg said, holding out her palm. Dudley's mouth flapped open and closed a few times, so much so that Harry could liken him to a great inflated puffer-fish. His cousin looked back at his parents, neither of whom had anything to say on the matter. Dudley timidly reached towards Mrs Figg, placing the packet of chocolate stars in her grip. She gave them back to Harry, who began munching on them immediately. It was likely that as soon as she was gone they would take it back from him again.

Mrs Figg gave Harry a kindly smile, bid Petunia and Vernon good afternoon and set off down the street. By the time she was out of view, Harry had finished his chocolate stars. It had been so long since he had eaten sweets that the experience was almost completely new. The taste was delicious; the chocolate lined his mouth with a sweetness that lasted for hours afterwards. Harry was surprised Tom's advice had even worked. Even his aunt and uncle didn't speak another word of it the entire day, which was always good; however, Dudley was by far the worst affected. He sat on the couch until teatime and didn't speak a single word.

Harry felt smug for the rest of the evening.

_-You see? Like I have said, you are very smart for your age. You will do well in Hogwarts._

Harry's chest swelled with pride, grinning wildly to himself in his cupboard. Not even the horrific snoring of Vernon could quell his happiness.

_-People are very cruel Harry, all you need to do is learn how to protect yourself from them. Oh, I almost forgot- have you had a reply to the letter?_

Immediately after Tom asked this, the sound of card falling onto the doormat hit Harry's ears. Two nights after Harry had received his letter from Hogwarts, Tom instructed him to reply to it himself and arrange to be picked up. That way the Dursleys wouldn't know he was leaving until the day he had organised to go.

_-I think it just came._

Harry quickly undid the lock on his door and tiptoed over to the letterbox. A piece of paper of the same shape and size as his previous letter lay on the doormat, the wax seal glaring up at him. He snatched it and returned to his cupboard to read it.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We have arranged for an escort to collect you at 9:00AM on July 31_ _st_ _. Your escort shall accompany you to Diagon Alley, where you may purchase the items on your equipment and uniform lists._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

He grinned to himself, pleased at the result. Looking down at the diary, he saw that Tom had written something in his beautiful hand.

_-Well? What does it say Harry?_

Briefly jotting down the contents of the letter, Harry noted that he couldn't stop smiling. Today was the 30th, and tomorrow was not only the day of his escape, but his 11th birthday.

_-Tomorrow is also my birthday!_

_-Truly? That is wonderful! Do you ever receive presents from those awful muggles? I am rather curious to know who your parents were, as well._

He frowned, looking around the small, dark space he inhabited. The Dursleys had never put any effort into giving him a present. Most of the things he owned were found, made or from Dudley's broken toy collection. As for his parents…he had no clue, however much he wished he did. He had already told his friend everything he knew.

_-Last year they gave me a sock._

Like it had once before, the diary started to rise in temperature, until it was almost too hot for Harry to hold. Tom seemed really angry. Maybe something like this had happened to him before.

_-I am honestly sorry that I cannot give you material objects, but I can give you something._

Harry asked what, to which Tom replied with a 'wait until tomorrow'. They said their goodnights, and Harry curled up with the diary and letters under his mattress, and the ring planted in his sock. His eyelids fluttered shut. Sleep that night brought nothing but a strange sensation; one that induced his stomach to flip in his dreamlike state as he dreamed of a handsome young man whom he had never met, and the face of man carved within stone in a chamber of darkness.

For the 12th time that morning, Harry checked the clock that was ticking away on the mantelpiece. 8:46. The Dursleys had all risen early, as they were taking Dudley shopping for school supplies, and Harry was in the kitchen area preparing a large breakfast. Vernon came banging down the stairs, hauling his weight around like an elephant.

"Don't burn anything boy! Dudley will need his strength today!"

"Yes Uncle Vernon."

Another glance. 8:47.

He retrieved three plates from the cupboard carefully, trying not to let the excitement burning in his veins show. It would not do well to smash things carelessly; after all, he'd be coming back next summer. Feeling the full wrath of these people was not desirable. The delicious smell coming from the pan containing bacon and eggs attacked his nose, eliciting a grumble from his stomach. Harry glanced at the clock again, trying to take his mind off of his hunger. 8:52. He quickly decanted the contents of the pans onto the plates, rushing over to the table and placing them before Petunia, Dudley and Vernon.

Suddenly, a large, grumbling roar erupted from outside, causing Petunia to jump and drop her fork.

"What on  _earth_ is that!" She proclaimed, as Dudley covered his ears. They turned to face the conservatory windows, where the noise seemed to be coming from. Outside a huge motorcycle, coupled with an even huger man, jumped into the garden over the fence. Petunia blanched. Dudley screamed. Vernon turned a beautiful shade of purple.

Harry just smiled.

The huge owner of the motorbike dismounted. Through the glass, Harry could see he was very,  _very_ hairy. He wore a long, dirty coat, oily and fuzzy from over-use; colossal boots adorned his feet; his nose was plump and round like a fat, over-ripe cherry, and his hair was a nest of black, un-brushed curls. Said man (Harry didn't know if he was even human) looked around in a puzzled manner, before spying the kitchen and walking across to knock on the patio door. Harry grabbed the keys from the counter before anyone could protest, and unlocked the door.

"'Arry Potter?" Asked the giant, his accent heavy and jovial. Harry nodded silently, turning back towards the family that was close to cowering in fear. He decided that he liked them more when they were frightened. It made him feel as though their positions had been reversed. Puffing up his chest, he readied himself to notify them of his departure.

"I am attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even eat bacon.  
> A shorty but hopefully a goody. There are longer chapters coming.  
> Have you noticed that Harry seems to be getting smarter? I wonder whose influence that is. And what will Tom give to Harry? What will Harry buy in Diagon Alley? What about the ring? Who is leaving things in the hedge?


	4. In Which Harry Sleeps in a Double Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets hot and heavy with some literature. Literally.

"YOU WHAT?!" Roared Vernon, slamming his fat hand down onto the table and making the cutlery rattle. Petunia squealed a little, moving over towards her son. Harry looked at the giant stranger in exasperation. As his uncle sat and fumed from his chair, the man cleared his throat and introduced himself.

"'Ello, the name's Rubeus Hagrid," He said, holding out a large hand for Harry to shake. The boy took it, laughing a little when Hagrid almost shook his arm off. "I'm yer escort to Hogwarts!"

Harry smiled through his raw excitement, trying to force the adrenaline in his body not to cause his voice to waver.

"NO YOU ARE NOT! He is NOT going! I refuse!  _I do not allow it_!" Vernon raged, standing up so abruptly that his chair fell over backwards. Harry stood his ground, looking back at his new acquaintance. Hagrid rolled his eyes.

"An' what exactly is a great muggle like you goin' to do abou' tha'?" He jested, "Oh! Nearly forgot!" Hagrid reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a white box. "Happy birthday! I may 'ave sat on it at one point…"

Harry took the box from him, eyes gleaming in childish delight at the present. This was the most he'd ever received from anyone! He opened the lid carefully, as though it would break; there sat a cake that was dripping with pink icing and had the words 'Hapee Birthdae Harry' squeezed over in green. The gloopy mess of sugar that drooled down the sides made him salivate a little. He had a bit of iced cake once when Petunia's friends came over for afternoon tea, and to be frank, he had dreamed about having more ever since.

"T-hank you!" He exclaimed, the astonishment clear in his voice. Hagrid smiled.

"Baked it myself, words an' all!" The giant exclaimed, looking mightily proud of himself. Harry decided that he liked Hagrid; he seemed simple and easy to talk to.

"He will not be going!" His uncle began. His beautiful shade of purple had turned to an angry blue. "We swore we would put a stop to this nonsense when we took him in!"

It did not surprise Harry that his family had known about his magical disposition all along. Tom had theorised this a while ago as they sat and talked about Harry's mistreatment and segregation one night. Furthering that, Tom had even gone so far to say that Harry's parents probably had not died in a car crash, like the Dursleys had told him, and that they had possibly reached their demise due to the very magic that Harry was now about to learn. This information frightened him significantly; the prospect of reaching the same end of his parents, however unknown, was still a harrowing concept that young Harry did not wish to overly dwell upon. He had just begun to accept the fact that he didn't even know the first thing about them. Because of this, he said nothing and watched the conversation between Hagrid and his uncle (which included Vernon spitting out more objections through his flabby lips).

"I will not pay for some washed up fool to teach him magic tricks!"

Hagrid reached into his coat and pulled out a pink umbrella, brandishing it in Vernon's face. A serious look had befallen his face, beady eyes watching the smaller man shy away from the object as though it were a venomous snake.

"Don't ever. Insult Albus Dumbledore. In front of me." Vernon let loose a most unmanly whine. Harry decided he liked Hagrid a lot. He looked at his watch, electing to jump in with a contribution. Harry wanted to seem intelligent, but in actuality he just wanted to go buy some cool wizard stuff. And get away from his family.

"I'll be out of your hair until next summer uncle Vernon. You won't have to feed me, or buy me new clothes or anything. It'll be like I never existed."

Harry heard Petunia gasp a little. Vernon looked at her. She looked at Vernon.

"WOOHOOO!" Dudley shouted from his place at the table, the napkin around his neck soaking in grease from his plate. Harry gestured to Hagrid that now was the time to leave, as neither of the guardians were making any objections to such a good bargain. With the diary and letter safely tucked away in one sock- the ring in the other, since he still did not like the idea of wearing it- Harry slid out of the patio doors after Hagrid, following him across Petunia's spoilt lawn to the motorbike.

Harry didn't look back. If he had, he would have seen a family of three; a mother, father and son, sitting at the table and eating breakfast like nothing had ever happened.

Hagrid patted the seat of the sidecar, flight goggles already adorning his face.

"Park yer bum in 'ere 'Arry." The tall man said, mounting the seat of the bike. He reached into his endless supply of pockets again and pulled out another pair of goggles. "Don't want ta lose yer glasses do you?"

"Thanks!" Harry said, accepting the item and hopping into the snug little sidecar. It was padded with leather; quite comfortable, and certainly very cosy. "Hagrid…?" He asked, peeking up at his companion. "How are we meant to get out of the garden?"

Hagrid smiled.

"Hold on."

All of a sudden, the motorbike gave a huge bang and the next minute Harry found himself flying in the air, five feet off the ground. Higher and higher they climbed, until he could marvel at the tire-tracks left by the vehicle in the Dursley's garden. Farther and farther they ascended from Harry's small cupboard, his home, the hedge in Mrs Figg's garden…his entire life up until now. He felt it all fall away as the bike surged forward, the engine roaring over the sound of the wind rushing past his ears. Little Whinging gave way to the rolling hills of countryside, which changed to small settlements and towns dotted here and there, and finally the beginning of London. Harry clutched onto the birthday cake on his lap. He wanted to savour it later while talking to Tom. Speaking of Tom, Harry was anxious and excited to discover what he had in store for him. Tom couldn't give him a material gift, so then how would Tom have anything to give him? How did that make any sense? Harry smiled, picturing a wizened old man in dark blue robes that were dotted with moons and stars. Not forgetting the hat, of course; magicians always wore pointy hats, like the magician in that Mickey Mouse movie he had seen with the brooms that multiplied when you chopped them up.

It was 11:24AM when Harry and Hagrid touched down London. Hagrid had parked the motorbike on the side of a street and ushered Harry along amidst mumbles about not having enough time. Hagrid's hair had been swept backwards by the wind, exposing his chubby, reddened cheeks. Harry thought he looked a little like Santa.

"Allllright then 'Arry! Let's get going."

Assuming he meant Diagon Alley, Harry nodded and smiled, straightening his own hair. A few muggles in the street stared at his companion as they walked silently past, marvelling at his near impossible height. Harry grimaced a little. To be truthful, he still felt very strange using that word; up until recently he had thought himself to be a non-magical being. After knowing a muggle upbringing for almost his entire life, Harry felt hypocritical using it.

He followed Hagrid down a bustling, cobbled road, having to run a little to keep up with the man's lumbering steps. At the end of the road, they turned towards an old public house. The sign hung from an aging metal bar that creaked in the gentle breeze, threatening to fall off and strike the unsuspecting civilian from above. Whatever was left of the paint on the wood itself was peeling away, faded from time and wear. Harry could just about make the words out.

"The Leaky Cauldron." Hagrid pronounced proudly, as if it belonged to him. The pub itself looked ancient; crumbling bricks, murky windows and walls that seemed a little less straight than they should be. Harry had no idea what this dirty pub had to do with buying school supplies, but he trusted Hagrid enough to have his reasons. Hagrid was simple, he had gathered.

Inside was dimly lit. As Harry's eyes adjusted to the low light, his ears picked up the sound of jovial chatter, music and the clinking of tankards. Hagrid and he approached the bartender, exchanging a few words while Harry looked around. People in robes, hats, cloaks; people with chameleons, cats and owls, an array of wizened old men and women, interspersed with a few whose faces he could not see. Harry guessed they were all magical folk.

"…'ry Potter to 'Ogwarts."

Was all Harry caught of what Hagrid had said before the whole room went silent. Everyone turned, fixing their eyes on him. Somebody at the back of the room began to clap.

"What's happening?" He said nervously, watching as the whole room erupted into a roar of clapping and cheering, a few strange people coming up to shake his hand.

"Hagrid, I want to leave." The giant man nodded slightly, gently pushing Harry on the back in the right direction. Harry's ears were ringing with noise as they entered a store room, a large brick wall facing them. Why where those people applauding him? What had he done? Pushing his thoughts aside, he decided that his new questions could wait until later this evening when he and Hagrid could talk properly.

Hagrid took out his pink umbrella, tapping the bricks in a pattern.

"Woah!" Harry exclaimed as the bricks started to unfold away, revealing a heaving alleyway full of marvellous sights and smells.

"This," Hagrid said, sweeping his arm around "Is Diagon Alley! This is where you'll find everything yer need fer school."

"But Hagrid, how can I buy anything if I don't have any money?"

His new acquaintance looked as though he had just remembered something important, feeling his jacket with those sausage-like fingers for yet another item. Harry wondered how much Hagrid actually kept in his coat alone. The man pulled out a hessian bag, dropping it into Harry's hands. It was heavy, feeling full of what seemed to be coins. The boy pulled open the drawstring and peeked inside. There was a large pile of glittering gold coins, waiting to be used.

"Professor Dumbledore took the liberty of taking out the amount you'd need. The key to yer bank is also in there."

Harry spotted a small key lying in amongst the reticule. He smiled. Tom had told him a few things about the bank of Gringotts and the grumpy goblins that inhabited it. It didn't seem like a pleasant or even interesting way to begin his shopping trip, so he was glad in the knowledge the money had been taken out already. Hagrid and he began to walk down the street and mingle with the crowd.

Whilst visiting the book shop, Harry's stomach began to protest in hunger. Hagrid had left him momentarily on confidential 'Hogwarts business', so the boy had taken the opportunity to sit down and engross himself in a tantalising volume which focused on curing magical sicknesses. After a rather large tummy rumble, Harry decided it best to return to the pub for some food. There was no rush to purchase any items, as he had a whole month here. After buying the necessary textbooks, he met Hagrid outside, who stood carrying a large box that was riddled with holes.

"'Appy birthday 'Arry!" He said, smiling widely as he passed the box to the boy. He lifted a hole to his eye, peeking inside. A small, pure-white fluffy kitten sat inside, mewling quietly and shaking with fear.

"Th-thank you so much!" Harry stuttered, almost rendered speechless by the second gift he had received that day.

"I thought you'd suit a cat better. Ain't 'e just lovely?" The giant cooed, scratching the box teasingly and receiving a cute mewl in reply.

"Did ya get them books then?" Hagrid asked.

"Yes, but I figured since we have a while to shop I could take my time with the other things."

"Right you are then. I believe it's time fer a spot of grub, don' you?"

They were currently seated in the Leaky Cauldron enjoying home-made broth. After finishing their meal, Harry bade farewell to his giant friend and went upstairs to retire his room. It had been a very long morning. By now it was roughly 4 o'clock, and so he could think of nothing better to do than to talk to Tom whilst digging into those new textbooks.

The floorboards were creaky, the ceiling was dusty and covered in cobwebs, he loathed going near the en-suite toilet for fear of the green thing he had discovered lurking in there and the room rattled from the train that passed every hour. But Harry didn't care, because he got to sleep in a double bed for the first time ever. Finally he could stretch himself out properly and sleep in whatever position he wanted, or roll over to the other side without smacking his head on the wall.

Harry was also desperate to talk to Tom and tell him about everything that had happened today. He sunk into the mattress, picking up the box with his new kitten in. Carefully, he removed the cardboard lid. The kitten, which had been asleep, opened its eyes blearily and got up to stretch. Harry giggled as the feline yawned. It mewled, looking up at Harry. He slowly reached a hand in, allowing it to sniff his finger. The tiny animal licked it, deeming him to be trustworthy. Harry laughed and picked it up, placing it on his lap.

"You're so cute…What shall I call you?"

Harry tickled its snow-white ear as it settled down, purring. He pulled the diary and pencil from his sock, opening it for the first time today.

_-Hello Harry. Happy birthday!_

_-Hi Tom! Thank you. I've had the best day of my life!_

Harry beamed, telling him all about Hagrid and his flying motorbike and Diagon Alley.

_-Hagrid bought me a kitten too. I think it's a boy, but I don't know what to call it._

He stroked the kitten's head softly, careful not to wake it.

_-Hmm. What does it look like?_

Observing the small feline properly for the first time, Harry noted the colour of its fur on the very tip of the tail.

_-It's snow-coloured, and has a grey bit on its tail._

_-How about Muguet?_

_-Muguet? What's that?_

_-It's French._

"Muguet." Harry said out aloud. The kitten's ears pricked a little, snuggling its minuscule head closer into his legs.

_-What does it mean?_

_-It means 'Lily of the Valley', which is a white flower. I think it is very befitting of your new friend._

"Muguet." Harry said again, placing his hand atop the tiny creature. He could feel its breath; its fragile heart; the brittle bones that stuck out of its hips. Muguet opened his eyes, looking up at Harry. He smiled, already attached to his new familiar.

 _-Oh, I almost forgot!_ Tom wrote, _–I have something for you._

His heart skipped a beat. Harry had been anticipating this since last night, when Tom had refused to tell him what it was. After much consideration, he had decided that it could not possibly be a material object. Maybe it was a drawing? Or a story of some kind? Whatever it was- if it was from Tom, Harry knew he would love it.

_-First, I want you to lie back and make yourself comfortable._

The boy picked Muguet up gently and placed him on the bed next to the pillow. Muguet meowled in frustration of being woken, but curled up on the blanket and resumed his sleep. Harry plumped up his pillow, fanning his legs and arms out in luxury.

_-Now place the diary over your heart and close your eyes Harry._

He scrunched up his face. What on earth was Tom doing? He picked up his pencil and awkwardly wrote a reply.

_-Why?_

_-I need you to trust me. You will like this._

Reluctantly, he pressed the open book over his heart, feeling it speed up minutely. Why was he nervous? Tom wouldn't hurt him…would he? Suddenly, a warm, tingly feeling pulsated through his chest. Harry jolted forward in surprise, but remained lying down. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Again, something that felt like golden rain falling on his chest radiated outwards from the pages, slowly warming all of his extremities. It got warmer and warmer, hot enough that Harry felt himself begin to erupt in golden light. As his vision clouded, images flitted in and out of his mind, so vivid that Harry believed himself to be there.

_A little boy, held in the arms of a woman with fiery hair._

_A house in a quiet village._

_The smiling eyes of a bespectacled man._

His limbs burned with a strange sensation; however no pain was felt after each successive wave of warmth rolled over him. They became more frequent, almost erratic- now Harry was in a rose garden, surrounded by lush verdure and fragrant petals. He ran his fingers through the grass…it all felt so real… In this strange vision, Harry lay down, inhaling deeply and feeling the stress seep from his small body.

Then, as abruptly as he had left normality, the boy found himself lying on the double bed back in the Leaky Cauldron, limbs heavy and eyes drooping. He yawned, rolled over and fell straight asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ollivander doesn't usually make wand cores out of anything but Unicorn hair, Phoenix feathers or Dragon heartstrings because they are the most magically potent; however, other things like Veela and Thestral hair have been known to be used before. I thought Thestral hair just suited Harry. He's already seen a lot of death. And about Merlin's wand. I don't know about his wand core, but I have read that it was made of Lignum Vitae.
> 
> Muguet is the French word for Lily of the Valley. This plant is the centre of many legends. Some believe that it sprung up where the Virgin Mary cried when Jesus was crucified. Others believe it was Eve's tears when she was expelled from Eden. Others believe it was blood shed from a dragon. I have also read that it used to be believed anyone planting lily of the valley would die within six months. Most likely because it is poisonous or something, so I thought this plant befitting.


	5. In Which Harry Receives his Wand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets a kick-ass wand

Harry awoke to the sound of the room shaking with a passing train. It took him a good few minutes to remember where he actually was; having being accustomed to waking up and seeing the wooden floor boards of the Dursley's staircase. Yesterday's happenings had flooded back, eliciting a small giggle from the boy. That strange sensation of golden rain and the fleeting images Harry had seen in his mind's eye…how did Tom do that? He gave a small shudder upon remembering the feeling, small tingles of delight racing down his fingertips. Once asleep, Harry had dreamed of his castle yet again, but more vivid. Almost life-like. The tapestries on the walls were in full, glorious colour; the paintings appeared to have been painted yesterday, glossed and sparkling with glory. It was like Harry had lived there all his life.

After throwing on a pair of Dudley's old jeans and a worn t-shirt, Harry brushed his teeth and plonked himself back onto the bed. He opened Tom's pages, caressing the faded leather. Although he had hoped to talk a little bit prior to meeting Hagrid downstairs for breakfast, he decided it could wait. Smiling, the boy saw that Tom had already written a greeting in his spidery writing.

_-Good morning Harry. I trust you had a pleasurable experience yesterday?_

Harry blushed deeply. Why did that sound so odd?

_-Yes, thank you. How did you do it?_

_-Magic, Harry. Magic._

Smiling, Harry scooted further up the bed, crumpling his knees into his chest with the diary cradled within his arms. He could sense Tom's mirth radiate gently outwards when he held the pages to his chest, as had been done last night; however, something seemed slightly off today. The book felt weaker, more fragile.

_-What happened to you?_

Harry felt a little fluctuation come from the diary, and it began to warm a little.

_-It takes a lot of energy out of me._

He cringed in burning shame, guilty with the knowledge Tom had been suffering because of the present.

_-I'm sorry! I didn't kn-_

_-Please, it was your birthday gift. I could think of nothing I would have liked to do more. You are special to me._

His friend cut Harry off before he could finish the sentence. Special? Him? As he had contemplated much before, Harry saw himself as less than special; especially when it came to Tom. Since Harry possessed neither intelligence nor uniqueness, this whole situation begged the question: What did Tom really want? There was no doubt that his friend made Harry feel good about himself and had helped him more than he cared to admit, but irrespective of this fact Harry had grown slightly wary. Whether or not he was cautious around Tom for a legitimate reason still remained to be seen; perchance he was guarded due to the fact he had never possessed a real friend before. Harry really didn't want to believe that Tom only talked to him because he had to, either.

A small growl in his belly disrupted his chain of thought. Bidding farewell to Tom and picking up Muguet, Harry padded from his room in search of some breakfast. Hagrid was up and waiting for his arrival, engaging the bartender in jovial conversation.

"Good morning Hagrid!" He said, placing a wriggling Muguet onto his shoulder.

"Harry! Yer up early! Fancy some grub?"

The boy was led to a rickety wooden table, where a soapy cloth was washing the surface of its own accord. Hagrid shooed it away as he slammed down two huge, round plates bursting with a traditional, greasy English breakfast. Harry's mouth watered. He had only ever cooked this kind of breakfast, but had never experienced a whole one to himself. Before he began his meal, however, there was a question that needed to be asked.

"Hagrid…" Harry began "Why did all those people clap at me yesterday?"

The giant burst into a large, benevolent grin, his cheeks pinching so much they looked like shiny apples.

"Yer family really 'aven't told you nuthin', 'ave they?" He said, forking a colossal sausage into his mouth. Harry shook his head, still confused and infuriatingly interested. Picking up his own fork, he gave into his empty stomach and began to tear at a rasher of bacon. Once Hagrid had finished chewing, he leaned closer, excitement gleaming in those beady eyes.

"Yer defeated one'a the most evil wizards ever to walk this Earth!" He proclaimed, slapping Harry on the back in jubilation. The boy stared blankly. Was it just co-incidental that Tom had jokingly suggested that as an explanation last night? More to the point- was that something to be proud of?

"Is…that how my parents really died?" Hagrid's smile dropped immediately.

"They 'aven't even told you 'bout that? Curses! Them slimy muggles! What I wouldn't give ter get my hands on 'em!" He said, slamming his podgy hand onto the wooden table. Harry was sure he felt the whole room shake.

"It's ok Hagrid. I had a feeling they weren't telling the truth." He offered the man a small smile. Reflexively his hand went to rub at his pants waistband, near his left hip, where Tom was tucked against the skin.

For the next half an hour, Hagrid had explained all about a wizard named 'Voldemort' and his followers- how he had come to kill Harry and had failed- how he had been killed himself and all supporters of the regime had been imprisoned. Harry was a living testament to love, a 'breathing martyr' of the wizarding world. If he was honest with himself, it was far too much to absorb all in one day. He wasn't even sure if he liked the idea of killing anyone; regardless of the fact the wizard was very evil. Who was Harry to decide who lived or died?

It had been five days since his arrival in London. Harry spent most of his time in Flourish and Blotts, head immersed in one of the millions of huge volumes, or curled up on his bed talking to Tom. Every day his friend would tell him about a different magical creature, or a strange, alien plant with magical properties. Today, Hagrid had promised to show him to get a wand. The giant took him down the alley to an old shop, pointing towards the door.

"That there is Ollivander's. You'll get yer wand there 'Arry. I'll catch up with yer, I got a few things to do."

Inside the shop was quiet. It smelled of wood varnish, stale paper and slightly like smoke.

"Hello?" Harry called, hoping an assistant would hear his small voice. He jumped a little when a man slid along one of the shelves on a wheeled ladder. The man in question was wiry, his white hair sticking up all over. He wore faded clothing and fingerless gloves, but somehow Harry didn't get the impression he was poor. The man smiled at him.

"I wondered when I would be seeing you, Mr Potter," He said. Harry presumed he was Ollivander "It seemed only yesterday that your mother and father were in here buying their first wands."

The wandmaker hopped down from the ladder with a youth that belied his appearance, grasping a box from the shelf. Harry watched as he hummed, rocking backwards on his heels.

"No…Maybe?" He asked himself, grasping a few more boxes. After waving his own wand, a few boxes flew at him from un-visible corners of the shop. Harry craned his neck to try and see where they were coming from, but was unsuccessful in this endeavour.

"Let's try a few, shall we?"

"This one has to work, surely!" Said Ollivander in exasperation. After testing the most part of 30 wands- Hawthorn, Holly, Ash, Cherry, almost every tree that Harry could think of- the wand shop had begun to show the signs. Several shelves had their contents dislodged and scattered upon the floor, several vases had been smashed and Ollivander's quills had stood up and ran away, cheering and singing about freedom. The wandmaker had resorted to giving Harry an old set of crockery to aim at, replacing each piece with another as they were smashed. One of the wands had even turned itself into a knot. The wand that the man had just given him had started to hiss and shake violently.

Harry sighed, placing it on Ollivander's desk.

"How infuriating," He said, flopping onto the chair behind his desk. "It can't be the wood that is rejecting your magic."

"Excuse me, Sir?" Harry said, confused over why wood would not like him. This had not been a topic of discussion between himself and Tom- Harry didn't even think there was more than one type of wand. Ollivander sat up straight, bright eyes connecting with his own.

"Wands contain a magical substance at their core. It helps to," He clicked his fingers, searching for a word. "Channel! That's right! It helps to channel your magic."

"For some reason, your magic is not being channelled by the substances I use for almost all of my wands: Unicorn hair, Phoenix feather and Dragon heartstrings."

He stood up, clapping his gloved hands together. There was determination set into his features. Harry watched as the wandmaker strode down an aisle, disappearing behind one of the tall shelves. He heard a few rustles, the sound of cardboard on wood, and finally footsteps as Ollivander returned to the desk. The box the man carried was a rich purple, bordered with streaks of pure white. It looked more expensive than the other wands he had tried. Ollivander opened the box, popping the wand into his hands.

"Here," He handed it to Harry, reached for it carefully. It was a beautiful, pale wood, light as a feather and an easily manageable length. The wand itself was straight, rounded at the tip and bloomed into an eight-point flower for the handle. As soon as Harry touched it, something akin to sparks flew up his hand and made the skin on his body prickle all over.

"Hmm. Interesting."

Harry cocked his head a little, observing the wandmaker's unreadable expression. Ollivander understood this subtle movement and elaborated.

"That wand you hold in your hand is a very special wand, Mr Potter, one of its kind," He said, taking it from Harry's hand to re-house it in its box. "The wood is called 'Silver Lime'. It is quite rare, and often works the best for those gifted as Seers or Legilimens. However,"

Harry looked at Ollivander a little nervously. What was Legilimens?

"Your wand core is even more unusual. It is Thestral hair."

"Sorry, but what is a 'Thestral'?" Tom had never mentioned anything about a Thestral before, either.

"A creature that can only be seen by those who have witnessed death. It is curious that this wand should have chosen you, especially since Thestral hair is also the wand core that many dark wizards of the 1700s used. Are you a dark wizard, Mr Potter?"

The wandmaker looked at him with a good-natured smirk. Harry shook his head. At least, he didn't think he was. What did a dark wizard do? Were they 'evil'? 

"Many wandmakers believe that Thestral hair is not a very powerful wand core and do not use it; however," The man continued "When wielded by one of significant magical potency, as you are, Thestral hair wands can be both loyal and extremely powerful."

Harry took the box from his hands, passing over a few coins.

"It was said that Merlin himself wielded a wand of Lignum Vitae and Thestral hair. It is clear that you are destined for greatness, Mr Potter. How you choose to pursue that greatness is a decision you must make wisely. Thank you for your custom."

Roughly two weeks passed, and tomorrow Harry would be getting on the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. Hagrid had woken him early that morning, explaining in a fluster that they shouldn't have left the uniforms until the last day and quickly bustled him out of the door.

"Come on then, let's get yer sorted."

He and Hagrid approached the establishment, the latter waiting outside because he could not fit through the door.

The shop, 'Madam Malkins', was a slightly lavish shop. Rich hangings of red and gold were strewn across the wall, and the furnishings looked ornate with their highlights accentuated by carved wood. Madam Malkin herself was short and squat, and came bustling over to Harry. She directed him towards the side, where there were two large mirrors located in front of two identical stools. A boy stood on one of them. Harry joined him on the other, stealing a glance as the other customer. He was small and blond, his hair slicked back into a smooth style. The face it revealed was thin, pale and pointed. Piercing grey eyes shone brightly in the lamp light as the boy studied Harry with just as much curiosity.

"Hello," He said "Are you going to Hogwarts too?"

Harry smiled and nodded.

"Yes."

"My father's next door buying my books, and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

This amused him a little. Harry couldn't help but find himself admiring the boy's spirit.

"I've always wanted to try flying," Harry said, bending the truth for the sake of conversation. "But my guardians never allowed it."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to teach you then!" His company exclaimed with a smug twinkle in his eye, puffing up his chest in pride. Harry nodded in agreement, maintaining the friendly chatter. He hoped everyone he met at Hogwarts would be easy to get along with.

"Do you know what house you want to be in?" He asked the boy, who grinned.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff! I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" Harry laughed along with his new friend.

"I think being in Gryffindor would be worse." The boy snorted at Harry, agreeing with a vigorous nod.

"So I take it you want to be in Slytherin too?" Harry nodded again as his company introduced himself. "The name's Draco. Draco Malfoy. Nice to meet you."

"Harry Potter."

After making fast friends with Draco, they had gone for ice cream together with Hagrid. His new friend had seemed intrigued yet dubious about being around the man, but soon forgot his worry. When they had finished, Draco bid Harry and Hagrid farewell, running back to find his parents.

The next morning, Harry woke bright and early. Sun filtered through the murky window and bathed the room in a strange, honeyed light. He glanced at his new wristwatch, which sat on the bedside table next to him. 8AM. It was three more hours until the train left for Hogwarts- that gave him plenty of time to talk to Tom and have a leisurely breakfast. Harry rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, rolling over and snuggled his face against something furry. Spluttering, he sat up. Muguet was looking at him with big, sparkling eyes, purring loudly.

"You scared me silly, you fleabag!" He said, tickling Muguet's chin. The little cat stood up and stretched, back arching into a perfect curve. Harry giggled.

"Perhaps I should get dressed."

Harry washed his face thoroughly in the sink, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes- not without keeping a close eye on the toilet. He didn't want that green thing jumping out at him. Looking up at himself in the mirror, he scrutinised his smooth skin. It had started to feel a lot smoother since meeting Tom; the gentle, youthful rouge of his cheeks was starting to become more visible, and the bags under his eyes were almost non-existent.

Harry sat back down on his bed and opened the diary, preparing for a quick chat before breakfast.

_-Tell me about the train to Hogwarts?_

_-It is called the 'Hogwarts Express'. It will take you all the way there. It comes in at Platform 9 and three quarters at King's Cross._

_-Platform 9 and three quarters? Where on earth is that?_

_\- Hagrid should show you to the correct place, if you care to ask him. It has been so long since I attended Hogwarts, I'm afraid I couldn't tell you where it is._

If Tom were there with him, he probably would have chuckled at Harry's unconcealed excitement. The Tom in his mind was a tall, faceless being, dressed properly in shirt-and-tie at all times. He would laugh in an indistinguishable voice, pat Harry on the head and sit him on his chair by the fire. Harry unconsciously hugged the book closer to his chest, grinning uncontrollably. Honestly, how could he not be excited?

_-When did you attend Hogwarts, Tom?_

_-Hmm…I believe it was between 1938 and 1945._

Wow, Harry thought, That was a seriously long time ago. Grey hair grew on the head of Tom in Harry's mind, wispy and thin. Maybe he was even short and stocky, like his uncle? A loud knock on the door caught the boy's attention.

"'Arry! 'Arry you awake? Come down fer breakfast. Want yer strength up for yer first day!"

_-Oh! I have to go, thank you for everything! May we talk again tonight?_

_-Of course Harry, you know you can talk to me whenever you like. I will be waiting eagerly. Oh, and about that ring,_

_-Yes?_

_-Don't put it on. I have given it much thought. It sounds dangerous._

Harry gave his word, shut the book and tucked it into the top of his trousers. He stroked Muguet's head softly and left the kitten to sleep on his bed.

"Morning, Hagrid." Harry offered politely, pulling open the door to face the huge man.

"Mornin' 'Arry! Sleep well?" He boomed, clapping Harry around the shoulder good-heartedly. The boy nodded and allowed himself to be guided downstairs to a good breakfast. Last night, he and Hagrid had eaten better than Harry had for a long time. Subconsciously he patted his stomach, which was already rumbling with anticipation over the ginormous portions of whatever would be served to him this morning. They entered the dining area where Harry received several calls of 'Good morning Mr Potter!', to which he replied as politely as he had done to Hagrid.

Sitting down opposite his friend, Harry met the other's eyes. At first he had been shocked about the incident when they first stepped into the pub, but that had been replaced by curiosity. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of things for Harry to be curious about these days. He shivered, causing Hagrid to voice his concern and then abruptly notice the time.

"Blimey! We best be getting' yer to the platform!"

Harry loved King's Cross. It was full to the brim of bustling people, the sounds of whistles blowing and the smell of hot diesel from train engines. He and Hagrid walked side by side to an arched column of brick between two busy platforms. The boy was a little apprehensive at first when the giant told him to actually walk through it, but stranger things had happened to him before so he took it for what it was. A strange thing. Muguet hissed from his catbox, spooked by the wall. What met his eyes on the other side was more magical than anyone could have prepared him for.

A beautiful steam-train awaited him, steam billowing out from below its engine in huge puffs of white, moistening his face. The front of the train was charcoal black, the words 'Hogwarts Express' written in metal plating and proudly place upon the face. The rest was bright red, with carriages that seemed to never end. The whole train glistened with drops of moisture and Victorian charm. Just as he was clearing his trolley from the exit, something rammed into his back.

"Bloody- Argh! Sorry!" Harry turned around to see a boy with wild, ginger hair standing behind him. "I didn't see you there mate! You ok?"

He seemed nice enough. He smiled at the boy, recalling a piece of Tom's advice.

'-Networking is very important Harry. If you have friends in many places, you have endless resources.'

"Yes, I'm fine thank you. I'm sorry for getting in the way." The ginger boy shook his head, returning the smile.

"My fault. Stupid rat almost knocked itself off my trolley." He said, pointing to the small rodent in a cage. "I'm Ron by the way."

"Harry. Nice to meet you," He said, holding his hand out to the other young boy. Ron shook it. Harry decided that he quite liked him; he reminded Harry of Hagrid- straight-forward and good natured.

"Harry! Harry, over here!" A small voice from behind him started to shout. Harry turned around to see a mass of slick, blond hair making its way towards him.

"It was lovely meeting you, but I have to go." Ron waved him goodbye. Harry laughed, eager to see his friend from yesterday.

"Draco!" The boy made his way past a cloaked woman. Her dark, curly hair brushed in his eyes for a second. Harry paused to rub at them, turning to apologise; however, when he did, she had already gone. Draco pushed through to meet his friend. His clothes, Harry noted, were sleek, well-ironed and free of dirt or dust. Draco's shoes were polished to the highest standard, and made small clicking noises when he walked. The blond himself had a regal air about him, regardless of his small stature.

"Hello Harry." Draco said, smoothing back his hair. "I trust you're sitting with me on the train?

"Yes, of course. This is the first time I've seen the Hogwarts Express. Isn't it wonderful?"

His friend was about to reply, yet was cut off by the shrill voice of a woman calling his name.

"Draco!" A woman with hair as blonde as Draco's own was calling across to him. Harry assumed this was his new friend's mother. He watched as they exchanged a few words, receiving a disapproving stare from the woman. She hugged her son and Draco returned to him, beckoning for him to get rid of his luggage and enter the train. A man took Muguet to the car where the animals were kept, but not before Harry had given the kitten a soft tickle through the bars of the box. They pulled the carriage doors behind them, throwing themselves down on the cushioned seats in earnest. Harry sank into the soft upholstery and sighed, leaning his head against the window. The glass was cool, and a little condensation had formed in the corners. A drop trickled onto Harry's forehead. Grinning, he wiped it off and looked at the blond.

"So, are you nervous for the sorting ceremony?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ollivander doesn't usually make wand cores out of anything but Unicorn hair, Phoenix feathers or Dragon heartstrings because they are the most magically potent; however, other things like Veela and Thestral hair have been known to be used before. I thought Thestral hair just suited Harry. He's already seen a lot of death. And about Merlin's wand. I don't know about his wand core, but I have read that it was made of Lignum Vitae.


	6. In Which Harry is Sorted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets the fine motherfucker that is Tom Riddle properly for the first time.

An hour passed with the two talking of Slytherin and the school. Draco didn't ask any questions about his newly-discovered celebrity status- whether he didn't know or just didn't want to ask, Harry was glad for it. An old lady had come past their compartment offering treats of all kinds. They bought as many as they could, and Draco proceeded to educate Harry about wizard sweets. The brunette had found them all to be amazing, even if an odd-flavoured jelly bean had repulsed him somewhat.

The scenery had unfolded from the urban sprawl of London and southern England, to the rugged, heather-riddled moors of Northumberland. The weather was damp and cloudy, but it had yet to rain. Harry was grateful for his and Draco's warm compartment, full to the brim of sweet wrappers and laughs. At first, Draco had seemed apprehensive to joke on, sneering as if it were below him. After a while Draco began to act more normal, giggling with Harry as he became more comfortable around his friend. He wondered if Draco's parents even allowed their son to be a child, so Harry wanted him to feel comfortable when they were together. Perhaps it would be easy to make lots of friends at Hogwarts.

"My wand is Hawthorn and Unicorn hair," Draco said with pride, bringing his wand from a pocket in his jacket. It was straight, with no deviation in direction and two simple bands ringing around the base where Draco held it. It was elegant in its own right, rigid and upright like its owner. "What's yours, Harry?"

The boy dug into his backpack and withdrew his wand, still nestled inside the beautiful white and plum-purple box. He pulled the lid free and allowed Draco to inspect it. The other boy's hand hovered towards it, pausing momentarily.

"May I?" He asked. Harry nodded, watching as Draco picked it up for inspection.

"It's Silver Lime and Thestral hair." The blond looked fascinated for a few seconds, but pulled back. He cleared his throat and re-assumed his smirk.

"Very nice, Harry-"

Draco looked up to see a young girl with a forest of curly hair slide open the carriage door in irritation. She began to speak in a well-spoken, nasally voice.

"Have either of you seen a toad? A boy called Neville's lost one."

"No, sorry." Harry replied civilly, although disliking her immediately. She seemed snooty and arrogant in a way that demeaned other people's intelligence.

"Oh, you're doing magic? Let's see then." The girl invaded their car and sat down next to Harry, back stiff and nose pointed in the air. Draco's face twisted in annoyance and he handed Harry's wand back.

"Sorry to disappoint," The blond scoffed at her "But we weren't doing any-"

All three of them snapped their vision to the window of the train, where a tiny flower had formed in the centre.

"-magic…" Draco finished. Harry tried not to look astounded. Who was doing it? He was the only one holding a wand presently- unless you could perform spells without a wand. If so, it could've been any of them; judging by the other's faces they had no clue either. The flower blossomed further, dark burgundy petals unfolding outwards. Plant-like tendrils emerged from beneath it, spreading across the glass and revealing fresh buds which cascaded downwards and erupted into several more burgundy flowers. Then slowly, each flower shattered into shards of glittering glass, merging back into the window without a trace. There was a stagnant silence for a minute, the girl and Draco turning to face him in moderate awe. Harry felt a little proud to see such a gob-smacked expression on her features.

"Well, er, you two should change into your uniforms," The girl rose to stand at the car door "I expect we'll be arriving soon."

The boys watched as she walked stiffly down the corridor. Draco beamed at him.

"That showed her! Harry, that was amazing!" He muttered a meek 'thank you', pulling a uniform from his bag and laying it neatly on the seat next to him. His hand went to Tom again, caressing the edge of the spine with his fingertips. Surely it couldn't have been him? Harry had a feeling there would be a very long discussion this evening, and he revelled in that. Since this morning's conversation he had longed to talk more over the ring and of Hogwarts, and now the extra topic of the window flower. Perhaps Tom could do magic outside of the diary. Harry smirked inwardly; that could really help him in lessons. He stood up and grabbed the uniform, informing Draco he was going to change and making off towards the toilet a little shakily.

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, it was dark outside. Harry and Draco, now in their smart school robes, were directed towards the edge of a lake by Hagrid. Harry had smiled and waved, happy to see the giant man again. They were then instructed to enter the small boats which bobbed merrily on the black surface of the water; so Harry and Draco, now joined sheepishly by Ron, clambered into the vessel whilst trying to control their excitement. The blond and the red-head gave each other a few heated glares for some reason, but Harry ignored this and craned his neck to get a full view of the castle. It was nostalgic somehow…as though he were watching one of his own dreams on a huge screen. He stared at the building until they reached the other side of the lake.

His heart was practically bursting out of his chest with excitement as a strict looking woman, whom had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, led Harry and the other first years into the main hall. He ignored the stares of the older students, keeping close to Draco. They are sat in front of four long tables, facing a hat upon an old wooden stool. So this was the Sorting Hat Tom had talked about. Professor McGonagall unrolled a scroll of paper and adjusted her glasses, reading out the first name. It was Ron. The red-head looked back at him nervously, edging towards the stool. The Professor placed the Hat upon his head, and Harry watched in awe as it talked. Its voice was gruff and wizened, as though it had seen more than its fair share of life. If the Hat was as old as Tom claimed, it probably had. Harry felt a little sorry for it. What did it do when there were no people to sort?

Harry's mind trailed off into distant thoughts; so much so that he almost didn't respond when his name was called out. He hopped up amongst a ripple of whispers, confidently striding towards the stool.

The boy surveyed the scene, scrutinising each table. He saw Draco's pasty face staring back at him from the Slytherin table. His heart was racing again as Professor McGonagall let the Hat perch on his cranium.

"Harry Potter, eh?" It said "You're a tough one…"

Slytherin! Put me in Slytherin! Please, put me in Slytherin!

"So you want to be in Slytherin? Are you sure?" Harry blanched as he felt the Hat delve into his mind, probing around. "Plenty of courage, I see. Don't you think you'd be better suited in Gryffindor?"

"No." Harry said out aloud, a little firmly. The Hat chuckled.

"Just teasing. A hat my age has to have some fun every now and again! Slytherin it is then!"

The young boy beamed, jumping from the stool and running over to meet Draco. After the others had been sorted, the headmaster said a few words and waved his hand. An assortment of scrumptious-looking foods grew from empty plates set upon the long tables. The hall burst with chatter of youthful voices and the sound of clanking cutlery. Harry had never been happier as he tucked into a good meal with Draco and the other new Slytherin students, underneath the floating candles and enchanted ceiling. Once finished, a harsh man by the name of Professor Snape, their head of house, led them to the Slytherin common room.

It was beautiful. So grandiose and lavish, unlike anywhere Harry had even set foot in before. Draco was probably used to such splendour. The sofas were a dark, green leather, and were dotted about the room in careful co-ordination. Every wooden item was a deep ebony colour, high polished and gleaming in the emerald light. A prefect led them into the dormitories, where their possessions were laid out beside an allocated bed. Harry was truly delighted to find his bed was next to the far wall and that Draco was on the other side. Muguet lay curled on his pillow, purring happily. The bed itself was a four-poster, not big enough to get lost in but big enough to stretch out. He seriously could not believe his luck! In his excitement, Harry grasped a hold of the curtains that hung down from the top wooden frame, feeling their heavily embroidered texture in his hands. The material was a stunning pea green, interwoven with bits of silver and greys.

"-glad I'm not by the far wall-" A voice caught his attention "-where he slept supposedly-"

Although he was curious, Tom was more important at this moment in time. Whilst Draco was talking to two other first years, Harry drew one of the curtains closed for some conspicuous privacy and removed the diary from under his clothes. Muguet arose from his slumber, stretched, then settled back onto Harry's lap.

_-Good evening, Harry. Have you had a good day?_

_-Yes! I don't even know where to start!_

The diary still felt fragile, but was radiating a gentle warmth again. It may have just been him, but Harry felt as though he was getting better at detecting it. Tom bemusedly instructed him to start at the beginning. The boy started scribbling down his experience on the train with his pencil.

_-Was that you, Tom? Can you do magic outside of the diary?_

_-I am finding myself increasingly capable of doing so because of you. Marvellous, wasn't it? I hope you liked it._

If that was so, the prospects of Harry seeing Tom in his true form seemed closer than ever. Finally he would be able to put a face to his friend! In his glee, Harry had forgotten all about his creeping suspicion concerning the diary. Controlling the little bout of excitement, he continued to write.

_-I loved it. That girl was astounded!_

_-Wonderful. Oh, I almost forgot. What house have you been sorted into?_

Harry grinned. Tom would be so proud of him!

_-Slytherin. The common room is wonderful, and I have the bed by the far wall. Muguet seems to like it too._

Harry looked up and peeked around the curtain. People had settled down now, sinking into their new beds and chatting quietly amongst each other. Draco was buttoning up a pyjama shirt, readying himself for sleep. Noticing Harry peeping at him, he bid his friend goodnight. Harry returned it.

_-That's fantastic Harry! And I do believe that I used to sleep in that very bed when I went to school myself._

The young boy's face became hot with a strange bashfulness. He was sleeping where Tom would've slept all those years ago. The same bed. Had Tom lain there in his youth, wondering who would sleep there in the future, or whom had slept there before him? Harry told himself to stop being stupid. There was still much to talk about. He was still maddeningly interested in Tom's ability to do magic outside the diary, and he also needed to discuss the subject of Lord Voldemort. If Tom had heard anything of the dark wizard, maybe he would be able to fill in some of the missing details for him. Deflecting a killing curse definitely didn't sound like an everyday occurrence. Now that people seemed to be talking about dark wizards, he had even more questions. Tom was patient, and explained about the dark wizard Grindelwald, who sought for wizards to rule over muggles as a superior race. Somehow, Harry got the feeling that perhaps Tom even agreed with Grindelwald. They discussed the issue further until Harry could stand it no longer.

Harry paused, wondering how to go about the subject. Disclosing every last detail of his waking life didn't seem sensible, but after a moment's hesitation, the boy decided to dive straight in.

_-Hagrid told me that I defeated a dark wizard when I was young._

He wrote, hoping to get the serious conversation out of the way as quickly as possible, although that may have been asking too much.

_-We will talk of this tomorrow Harry. You must be tired._

Tom was right; he was tired…

The next morning Harry woke with a start, finding himself shivering and still in his school clothes. He shuddered, breathing out a cold puff of air and rubbed his arms. Muguet was fast asleep on the pillow, his tiny chest rising and falling steadily. Harry smiled at his pet fondly, giving him a little stroke. The cat mewled and began to purr.

"Harry," A voice whispered from behind his bed curtains "Harry, are you awake?"

He poked his head around the ornate curtains to see Draco doing the same, icy blond hair ruffled and sticking up at all angles.

"Hey Draco! You should see your hair…" Harry chuckled, trying to stifle his laughter when the boy looked at him with a horrified expression. He watched Draco fuss for a few moments before dropping his curtain for some privacy, locating Tom at the bottom of his bed. Somehow his pencil had gotten stuck underneath the pillow, so after a few more moments of searching he finally managed to open the diary and write.

_-Good morning Tom! Today is my first day of lessons. I'm very excited!_

_-Oh Harry, I am so very pleased you still wish to talk to me after I treated you so horribly yesterday._

A response came almost as soon as he had finished his sentence, which surprised Harry greatly. Tom must've really been worrying about it all night. He sighed, stroking the yellow pages. How could he ever be mad at Tom? He was his best friend in the whole wide world.

_-I could never be angry with you. You didn't treat me horribly!_

Tom apologised profusely for sending Harry to sleep, explaining that he simply thought the boy needed to rest after such a long day. They exchanged a few more fast, scribbled notes before Harry decided it was best to change into a fresh uniform and wash up to start his new day.

Magic was a lot more exhausting that he had originally thought. Potions, his favourite subject, was taught by a strict professor called Snape- who had very sad eyes, Harry thought. Ron and the snooty girl from the train were also in his class. Unfortunately, she had sat next to the ginger boy on the first day. Ron kept looking at Harry uncomfortably and grumbling to himself every time she raised her hand. Professor Snape had eyed Harry suspiciously for most of the lesson, scrutinising him every now and then. Fortunately, with the help of Tom, he had managed to read up on simple potions during his month in the Leaky Cauldron, and was able to answer most of the Professor's questions correctly. First year students also had to take Defence Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Herbology (which Harry enjoyed almost as much as Potions), Charms, Transfiguration and Astronomy. During the first two months at Hogwarts, he managed to settle into a nice routine of lessons, reading and relaxing in the library and spending time with Draco and Ron. To begin with, the two had not seen eye to eye; however after a week or so around each other they had relaxed into the other's company. There was the occasional cat fight, usually initiated by Draco blabbing out something that sounded cruel. Harry would only grin as he watched them bicker on like an old married couple, before intervening with a 'who wants to go exploring?' or 'let's go get some food!'.

He had managed to talk to Tom every day, usually about fickle things such as study or friends, but sometimes Tom would tell Harry a story or two. The diary still rarely divulged any information about itself, and if Harry asked, he was met with a cryptic response or a plain dismissal. This was irritating, but Tom must've had his reasons for doing so. Still, regardless of their differences, the two had forged a strong bond over the few months they had known each other. Harry kept the diary on him at all times, as well as the ring. One day he had woken up late, and in his hurry had forgotten to tuck the book in his sock. All day he felt sick with worry, wondering if someone was going to steal it. When he was finally allowed to return to the Slytherin dorms, Harry ran to the bed and shut the curtains, curling up with Tom and Muguet. He vowed never to let Tom out of his reach again.

It was Halloween today, and Harry sat in the library that evening with his two friends talking excitedly about the night's feast. Ron had heard all about the Halloween feast from his older brothers, and Harry's head was left reeling at the sound of some dishes. As if the food at Hogwarts wasn't already amazing! Nothing he had cooked for the Dursleys ever tasted as good- Harry was sorely tempted to sneak into the kitchens soon to discover their secrets.

"-lollipops, jellies, chocolate bananas and toffee apples and all sorts of weird and wonderful puddings-"

Harry and Draco were drooling by now, listening eagerly to Ron rattle off a long list as they packed up some books and made their way to the great hall. Filing into the room as they had done so many times already, Harry craned his neck up to look at the ceiling. It was vast and dark, twinkling with stars and interspersed with patches of fog. Dozens of beautifully carved pumpkins, glowing eerily from the candles inside of them, were floating about the room. He and Draco bid farewell to Ron, who went to sit at the Gryffindor table.

The feast certainly lived up to the expectation. Harry slunk to bed with a full, swollen belly, more content than he had ever been in his life. He bid Draco goodnight, settling down in his pyjamas with Muguet at his side. With the curtains securely closed, Harry opened the diary for their usual evening chat. Albeit a short one tonight, because he was quite tired. A most peculiar thing happened next.

The diary had become searing hot, scalding Harry and forcing him to drop it onto his bed, the crisp pages fluttering open. He was used to the gentle changes in temperature, but it was even hotter than the time Tom had got very angry at the Dursleys. It began to shake violently, emitting rays of bright, white light. Harry twisted his head away as to shield his eyes, waiting for whatever was happening to end.

When he looked back, there was no book on the end of his bed. Instead, there was a boy.

"Hello Harry." A straight-backed, long legged teenager sat on Harry's bed, smiling softly. He was neatly dressed in a Slytherin uniform, and had pristine brown curls sitting on a handsome head.

"T-Tom?" Harry asked in bafflement. The boy smiled.

"Yes, it's me." He said soothingly, sending tingles down Harry's spine. So many emotions were flicking through his brain; he had dreamed of this moment since the first day they talked, and yet, he didn't even know what to say. Harry's first instinct was to throw himself into Tom's arms and embrace him. When the older boy gestured for him to come closer, Harry shuffled down the bed on his haunches, gaze never wavering from Tom. The latter placed a large, cool hand on Harry's face, softly caressing his cheek. Harry thought his heart would burst if he were any happier.

"Harry, we have so much to talk about." Tom said, pulling the quivering boy onto his lap and stroking his hair. Harry's face was bright red, his voice but a whisper.

"What if the others hear us?"

"Don't worry, they won't. I've taken care of it."

Harry listened to the words vibrating deep in Tom's chest, ear pressed to the older boy's breastplate. He had never expected his friend to be this…affectionate. Not that Harry minded, he was exceptionally enjoying their comfortable arrangement. Large hands were carding through the strands of brown hair on his scalp, causing his head to tingle with pleasant sensations. He vaguely wondered if Tom was casting any magic, because it all felt so  _good_ ; then again, perhaps it was simply because Harry had rarely received any physical affection before. The elder laughed when Harry sighed happily.

"I've been dreaming of this day." Tom broke the silence, and Harry drew back to look at him.

"How are you even here?" Harry asked, because it was confusing and wonderful all at the same time. Maybe he was already asleep, and was dreaming very vividly. He raised a shaky hand, bringing it to Tom's face, but withdrew. It was probably very rude to touch someone without asking. A hand caught Harry's, returning it to its original goal. Tom permitted his fingers to explore the dips and planes of his features, watching Harry's long lashes flutter closed.

"It's all Hallow's Eve, dear," Harry wrinkled his nose at the pet name. Tom picked the boy up in his arms and re-organised them so they lay face to face on the pillow "On this night, the bridge between the spirit world and the mortal world is strongest. I performed some very powerful magic to manifest myself."

"You did all that to see me?"

"I did whatever I could so we could be together. I yearn for your company, Harry. I can barely stand it when we are not talking."

Tom's cool eyes were staring right at Harry, straight into his head. Tom's large hand reached outward, brushing down the other's cheek with a feather-light touch and skimming down Harry's body, finally coming to rest on his hip. The boy giggled at the ticklish sensation.

"I wonder why it feels right to be near you," Tom said, grasping Harry's hip firmly "I normally despise the company of others."

"Maybe you were just lonely."

They spent what felt like an eon gently laughing and talking about Harry's experiences at Hogwarts.

"Before I started Hogwarts I had these dreams about running through a huge castle," the smaller boy explained, giving a small yawn "And when I came, I realised this was actually that castle. It was amazing!"

Tom smiled at Harry, raising a sleek eyebrow.

"Perhaps you are a seer. Your wand is silver lime, after all. Did Ollivander tell you that all the greatest seers had silver lime wands?"

Harry nodded, looking to the slender wooden object on the sideboard next to his bed. He really quite liked of his wand. He thought it was beautiful; an instrument of magic should be beautiful, in his opinion.

"Lately I have not been dreaming at all." He said, furrowing his brow.

"Then maybe there is nothing to see at present." Tom replied. Harry was tenderly turned over to face the curtains, and a warm body moulded against his back. Tom's sturdy,  _safe_  arm curled over his waist. A faint whisper sounded in his ears. "Sleep, darling."

"Will I dream?" Harry asked through another yawn, vaguely registering the fact he had not asked Tom any of the questions he was so desperate to ask. Tom kissed his cheek and tittered in good nature.

"I promise you will dream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for slagging off Hermione, but I don't want Harry to be friends with everyone. I think I made Draco a little too passive, there's no way he'd be caught dead with a Weasley in reality. But I like him that way. I think he just needs someone there to calm him down.


	7. In Which Harry Visits Malfoy Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dobby

Harry dreamed. Of Hogwarts, of Tom and of a deep, dark place; where a face of stone watched over a shadowy room. He had seen this face in his dreams before.

When he awoke, he was shivering. A deep-seated coldness had settled into his muscles, which were aching from sleeping in a strange position. He didn’t turn over, knowing very well that Tom was not there. Sitting up slightly, he placed his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and gently pulled back the opulent curtains of his bed. Soft snores graced the room, so taking the book from its location under his pillow, Harry quietly padded out into the common room to warm up by the fireplace. Everywhere was still, thankfully, so he plopped down onto one of the black leather sofas. A sleepy Muguet crept up onto the cushion next to him, once again curling and drifting back to sleep. Harry smiled and patted his head.

He wished with every ounce of magic in his soul that Tom had been able to stay. How wonderful it would have been to turn over to see his very best friend sleeping soundly next to him. It had taken Harry all of his might to keep a strong heart when he awoke. There was no use in crying, he told himself, especially when Tom was working so hard just to be able to see him. The feeling of being held was one of the best, most warm feelings; so after much deliberation, Harry decided that he would also do everything in his power to see Tom again.

_-I don’t hate it when you call me dear._

Harry had written that morning, because Tom seemed to like calling him that. Hearing it fall from his friend’s mouth was better than reading it, somehow. Tom had seemed happy with Harry for it as well.

_-One glorious morning, you will awake to me lying with you. I promise you, Harry._

Tom had told him, and Harry didn’t doubt him for a second. The older boy was already able to perform magic outside of the diary and manifest himself at certain times of the month. These visits would rarely last more than a few hours and, according to Tom, could only happen on Halloween, solstices and full moons. This was when his magic was strongest. On his visits, they would spend time studying, talking and practising until Tom finally would shush Harry, drawing him into his embrace. The young boy would fall asleep nestled in the safety of two warm, strong arms, but in the morning, he would always wake alone.

Around Christmastime, Draco had invited Harry to spend a few nights in Malfoy Manor to meet his parents, surprisingly at their request. They were collected by an extravagant, black wooden carriage, seemingly moving of its own accord, from the small village of Hogsmeade. It was accompanied by two sour-faced servants.

“Wait until you see this, Potter!” Draco shouted, taking a near-dive into the carriage. The servant holding the carriage door gave the faintest roll of his eyes at the Young Master’s vigour. Harry only smirked, climbing in and drinking in the wonderful sight of the interior. It was decidedly larger than expected; the space was equipped with two cosy, comfortable-looking beds on the front and back walls, a cast-iron stove glowing with hot coals in the centre and large drape curtains for covering the windows. Draco sniggered from his place on the back bed, admiring Harry’s reaction.

“I knew you’d like it!”

They arrived at the Manor grounds late in the day, as the sun began to set. The house itself was a beautiful sight. It was very symmetrical and stood tall against the darkening sky that had now begun to fall with powdery snow. The maids, butlers and valets had all lined up outside the stone stairs that led into the main entrance to welcome Draco and Harry into the manor. Harry couldn’t help but blush as he tottered behind Draco, trying to keep up with his friend’s strides. It was all so lavish, almost overwhelmingly so. Pushing his discomfort to one side, he straightened his back, ready to meet Mr and Mrs Malfoy. He had heard a few things here and there from Draco and some of the other Slytherins about how strict they were, so an innate anxiousness had accumulated in his chest.

The Malfoys greeted him in a stern but polite fashion. Harry was also very surprised when Mrs Malfoy had bent forward to kiss her son on the cheek, as well as kissing Harry. Mr Malfoy wasn’t so receiving yet behaved cordially nonetheless. He spent most of the first evening exchanging pointed stares with his wife across the long wooden dining table in the grand hall. Mrs Malfoy returned them in silent communication. Harry tried to ignore them and instead focused on enjoying the extravagant Yuletide feast set before him. Draco seemed completely oblivious to his parents’ unspoken conversation. 

Tonight was the Winter Solstice, which meant Tom would be visiting Harry. By pure coincidence it was also a full moon, and he wondered absentmindedly if that meant anything. He could barely contain his excitement, so much so that after dinner he grew restless at the thought of finally being alone. Mrs Malfoy had a strange-looking creature named Dobby, a house elf servant, escort him to his bedchamber after noticing Harry yawning loudly.

“Dobby will be seeing to you during your stay here, Harry. Should you need anything, he will see to it that you are well looked after. Now, off to bed.” She kissed her son once more on his slicked blond hair before directing an austere glance at Dobby. Draco grimaced and flushed at his mother’s attention, happy to finally get away from the adults. Mr Malfoy, still seated at the head of the table, sent Draco a graceful nod whilst receiving a goblet of wine from another house elf. Harry noted that he barely acknowledged the creature’s presence.

Dobby led the two boys through the corridors of the manor house, light-footed on the polished wooden floor. Draco walked next to Harry whilst proudly pointing out expensive-looking vases, antique tapestries and ancestral paintings that stood staring back with aloof faces. He knew that his friend liked to show off. Harry really didn’t mind all that much. They finally stopped before a set of large doors on either side of the corridor. Dobby reached up and turned the ornate handle, albeit with some difficulty, and made a sweeping gesture towards the room. Harry felt embarrassed watching him struggle over something he could have done himself so easily. He was glad Draco did not see his cheeks turn pink.

“Dobby hopes this room is to Mister Potter’s liking.” The house elf wheedled in his shrill voice, allowing the boys to pass inside and inspect the room. Harry grinned when he saw the grand guest bedroom, complete with a burning fireplace and chairs, a sumptuous ornate rug and the largest bed he had ever seen. The posts were carved from a deep, rich mahogany, and were covered with an intricate forest scene pattern. Some of the fauna had been enchanted to wander around the wooden posts. Harry laughed and decided to dive for the bed, bouncing high on the soft mattress. Draco was soon beside him, and the two jumped on the mattress with giggles of delight.

“I want a new broom for Christmas,” Announced Draco once they had become breathless and laid down on the soft quilt to stare at the ceiling, “That way when I join the Quidditch team next year I’ll beat those stupid Gryffindors like we did this year! We can go out and play on the brooms tomorrow. I have a few old Comets lying around. What do you want for Christmas Harry?”

Harry didn’t have to look at his friend’s face to see the smug grin he was wearing. Terrence Higgs had managed to catch the snitch in a landslide victory for Slytherin, which Draco hadn’t stopped talking about for weeks afterwards. He had no doubt that his friend would be receiving the highest-quality broomstick on the market in a few days time. As for himself, he desired very little these days, save seeing Tom.

“The biggest Christmas pudding in the world.” He stated, throwing his hands in the air. Draco snorted and got up from the bed. They bid each other goodnight, already excited for their morning activities. In all honesty Harry was mostly looking forward to getting Draco out of the room so he could settle down for the night. The diary had been warm against his ankle all day and keeping the ring in his other sock was starting to get on his nerves. Although it was his precious treasure, it left uncomfortable indentations in his skin and occasionally grated against the bones in his foot. Still, he daren’t part with it even for a second. It was _his_.

He sighed and removed his possessions from his socks, placing them gently on the soft bed. Muguet had taken up his usual space on one of the downy pillows, pushing his paws into the white fabric and circling a few times before lying down. Harry smiled at the comfortable waves rolling from his familiar. Throwing open his suitcase, he pulled out his night clothes and a pen. The room was pleasantly warm from the open hearth, so he opted for a pair of small bed shorts and a simple white t-shirt. His heart was racing in his chest. This was always the case before his mysterious friend visited him, yet the boy did not fully understand why. Something about Tom was otherworldly; a deep, ancient -and not entirely light- magic, Harry suspected. He felt as though he had already matured so quickly with the help of Tom’s gentle guidance, for which he would be eternally indebted to him. Harry’s greatest grievance was simply that he couldn’t spend every day together with Tom. He felt a pang in his chest, clutching the pen and book. He sat on the carpet next to the fire, opening the pages and caressing the spine.

_-Happy Midwinter Tom!_

To Harry’s delight, the diary warmed as soon as the ink had disappeared into the page. He set it down carefully opposite to where he sat, having learned from previous experience that it would sharp become too hot for him to hold. The boy shielded his eyes from the harsh white light. When he looked back, Tom sat languidly with his back resting against one of the fireplace chairs and an arm resting on one raised knee. He wore a crisp, white shirt and black slacks. The collar was unbuttoned to expose the hollow of his angular collarbones at the base of his throat. His hair wasn’t as carefully styled as usual yet looked glossy and stylish nonetheless.

“Happy Midwinter, Harry.” He replied, a small smile gracing his features. He extended his long arms in open invitation to Harry, who gleefully obliged and crawled across the carpet to settle on Tom’s lap. The warmth of two long arms enveloped him. Harry sighed, finally content. His gaze was drawn towards the soothing glow of the fire, eyes following the orange flames that licked the chimney walls. He could feel Tom’s slow breath tickle the crook of his neck.

“How was your day?” Tom asked. Harry felt the rumble of the older boy’s words where his back met Tom’s chest. He smiled. It reminded him of the pleasant sensation of petting a purring Muguet. He allowed his head to fall back on Tom’s shoulder.

“Amazing!” Harry exclaimed, explaining to his friend about Malfoy Manor, their Yule feast, Dobby the house elf and the coach journey. Tom sat in comfortable silence, absorbing everything Harry said with tranquil reflection.

“I think I ate a little too much though.” He sighed, fidgeting to find the most comfortable position. Bouncing on the bed for so long had not been a good idea right after a large meal, in retrospect. Tom chuckled quietly, observing as Harry pulled up his t-shirt to pat his belly. Although he had steadily been gaining weight ever since leaving the Dursley’s, it was slightly podgier and rounded tonight. He prodded it with a laugh, watching as his finger sunk into the small layer of fat beneath his pale skin.

“Look how big my belly is!” Tom laughed again, moving his larger hands to hold Harry’s protruding stomach.

“You do seem to have gained some weight in the past month my dear,” He said, rubbing both hands in slow movements as Harry sighed and closed his eyes “I much prefer you this way.”

Tom’s hands were cool on his skin, tracing circles over the swollen flesh. It felt really, really good to be touched this way. Harry had never known the comfort of a hug, the tug of fingers tangling through his hair or the warmth of his own mother. Perhaps that was the reason why he enjoyed being touched by Tom so much. It made him feel tingly and safe. Loved. Tom squeezed his belly very slightly, pulling a slight squeak from Harry’s throat.

“I can’t bear to think how you managed to cope with those loathsome _muggles_.” His voice was different, cold with anger and disgust. Harry’s belly was squeezed again, this time much harder. Harry squirmed in discomfort. The pressure on his full stomach was bordering on painful and he let out a yelp. Tom’s grasp eased up, returning to rub soothing circles in apology.

“Sorry my darling, my intention was not to hurt you.” He murmured, moving one hand to caress Harry’s hair. Harry relaxed into his touch again, but not entirely. Tom often spoke of his dislike for muggles. He wondered what Tom thought of Harry’s own muggleborn mother. He shivered at the thought, drawing in on himself slightly.

“Are you cold?” Tom asked, withdrawing his hand from Harry’s stomach and pulling his t-shirt over the exposed skin. He shook his head in protest, dissatisfied with the cessation of Tom’s ministrations. He was a little cold, but he would never admit it. There was no way he wanted to move right now; not when he was so comfortable. Then, as if Tom had read his mind, Harry was pulled into his arms even closer. A hand rubbed the outside of his thigh, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Harry let out another satisfied sigh.

“You shouldn’t leave your legs exposed on such cold nights. Perhaps you should consider putting some warmer clothes on dearest.”

“But I was warm when I put them on!” Harry protested, “Besides, why aren’t you wearing your uniform? I’ve never seen you wear anything else.”

He felt Tom smile against the crown of his head before his hands threaded underneath the boy’s legs.

“Wh-Tom!” Letting out another cry as he was lifted into the air in Tom’s grasp, he wrapped small arms around his friend’s neck.

“Do not worry, I won’t drop you,” Tom stated with confidence as he carried Harry to the bed and placed him on it “Under the covers, please. I will not have you catch a cold.”

Sulking, Harry pushed back the thick duvet and climbed in, secretly thankful for the comfortable solace of bed. Tom lay down next to him, face to face as they had been the first night he had exited the diary. Harry took the time to observe his friend’s face in close detail. His skin was pale, near-perfect and without blemish. Long eyelashes framed his dark eyes. It took a few moments until Harry registered he was being spoken to.

“Are you listening, Harry?” The eyes he had been admiring were staring at him and a deep blush set in on Harry’s own face, nodding in response to the question.

“You look tired. You should sleep.” Tom said, brushing the hair from Harry’s eyes. The younger boy shivered again, cursing the bed covers that were still quite cool. He watched his friend climb in next to him and pull him close. Although he was desperately trying to fight the lure of sleep from shutting his eyes and cutting his visit from Tom short, he couldn’t deny how comfortable the bed was; or how secure he felt with another breathing mere centimetres away from him.

“I don’t want to sleep yet…” Harry trailed off, yawning widely. Tom said nothing as Harry’s eyelids fell shut. He vaguely registered the tender press of cool lips on his cheek, the crackling of the fire and the fullness of his belly before drifting off into a deep slumber. In his dreams, Harry saw a green velvet box and flashes of long, curled hair speed across his vision. He found himself in a strange room with objects piled impossibly high. The sound of the ocean rang in his ears.

The next two days passed quicker than Harry cared to admit. Draco and he had spent most of the time on their broomsticks, flying over the snowy manor grounds and trying to impress one another. Naturally, Draco boasted about how wonderful his new broom would be on several occasions. They had eaten until their bellies hurt at each mealtime and snacked on sweets in the evenings. Harry didn’t think his life could’ve gotten much better than this.

On his final night, after Draco had said goodnight, Harry had called Dobby to light the fire in his room. The previous two nights it had been lit before he had even arrived. It was cold tonight and he shivered as the elf piled blocks of wood into the fireplace.

“Dobby apologises that the room is so cold, but Dobby simply had to speak to Mister Potter!”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, throwing on a jumper over his t-shirt. The house elf stopped and looked at the ground in guilt. His large, translucent ears quivered.

“Dobby knew Mister Potter would ask him to light the fire, so Dobby did not light the fire on purpose.” He said, twiddling his fingers in the dirty pillow sack that he wore.

“Something wrong, Dobby?” Harry asked, confused at the elf’s curious behaviour. Dobby approached him, eyes darting to the door and ears twitching, listening for the slightest sounds. He took Harry’s hand in his own small fingers, patting his knuckles.

“Dobby came to warn Mister Potter because Dobby does not want anything bad to happen to him,” He uttered, large eyes staring up at Harry with concern “Harry Potter should be very wary of gifts from people he does not know.”

“Is something going to happen?” Harry asked, leaning down in an effort to make their conversation feel more private, irrespective of the fact the room was completely empty. Dobby looked pained, his pink brow furrowing in frustration.

“Bad Dobby.” He whispered back, clicking his fingers with a spark and vanishing into the air. Harry stood still for a while, perplexed at Dobby’s words. The room had started to warm by now, so he ensured his door was firmly locked and tucked himself into bed to talk to Tom. He described the strange encounter to his friend, hoping for insight.

- _If you should receive any items from a stranger, you are to tell me immediately. I think it would be unwise to use them, whatever they may be._

They bid each other a fond goodnight and promised, as usual, to speak the following evening. Harry slid further under the covers and fell into a deep sleep. He did not dream that night.

Harry was roused from his sleep by the sound of a hushed voice. It was still pitch-black outside. Reaching for his glasses, he checked the time on his watch. It was 4:17AM, yet the muffled tones of a conversation faintly touched his ears. Muguet was wide awake, standing to attention with his ears and eyes facing towards the door. Harry’s heart suddenly felt like a pounding drum, thudding through his chest as though it wished to break free of his rib cage. His bladder was uncomfortably full from the warm, spiced juices he had drank before bed. At least it had given him an excuse to investigate. Patting Muguet on the head to calm him, he exited the bed and slid on a pair of slippers. The fire was now a heap of glowing embers that hissed softly in the hearth. Padding deftly over the carpet, he unlocked the door and snuck out without a trace of noise. This was a trick he had perfected time and time again with the Dursleys. Harry stuck to the edges of the darkened corridor as he walked towards a dim, flickering light source and the voices of two women holding a whispered argument. He continued until he reached the stairwell, when peering through one of the gaps in the ornate balusters he saw the offending parties.

Mrs Malfoy stood facing towards Harry wearing only her night robes. Her hair, usually ordered so perfectly, was flowing over her shoulders as though she had not long been out of bed. Another woman that Harry didn’t recognise had her back turned, obscuring her face. Long, black curls tumbled down her back, bouncing whenever she moved.

“-his wish Cissy. You must do it! If he were to find out you refused, not even I would be able to protect you from his wrath.” The curly-haired woman insisted. Her voice was hurried and anxious.

“But why you can’t do it? Draco finally has a real friend, I don’t want to take that away from him.” Mrs Malfoy looked paler than usual without her makeup. Her beautiful features were distressed, and she turned away from her companion to conjure a delicate crystal glass of amber fluid on a small side table. With a single swoop, she tossed the liquid down her throat without a flinch. The woman with the curled hair threw her hands up in exasperation and stalked over to Mrs Malfoy.

“I don’t want to be involved with this desperate plan of yours. He’s gone- you know it, everyone knows it. Merlin knows we tried everything to bring him back after it happened! I just want Draco to have a childhood, I-” Mrs Malfoy persisted, pausing straighten herself “I won’t do it.”

Harry watched as the curly-haired woman’s fists curls into tight balls, extending one hand to point aggressively at Mrs Malfoy.

“ _You take_ _that_ _back_!” She spat, picking up a brown paper parcel that sat on the table. Mrs Malfoy’s eyes were wide as she stared at the object, frozen momentarily before striding towards the staircase. Harry felt his heart jump into his mouth at the fear of being caught peeping and almost laughed in relief when the other woman turned around to catch her wrist in a tight grasp. For the first time her face was visible. Their conversation became muted and hazy as Harry slipped into a strange hallucination. His peripheral vision fell away, focusing only on her dark eyes and what felt like a rushing sensation towards her face. Blackness engulfed his sight, and then-

_A man lay face down in a dark alleyway, lifeless and covered in blood._

_A cloaked figure stole away into the night._

_Hands with no discernible owner held a golden locket. A thumb traced over deep green gemstones, which scintillated in the lamplight of a dilapidated room._

“-tomorrow, before he leaves. Do it Cissy, if you know what’s best for Draco-”

The persistent voices of Mrs Malfoy and her companion returned to his ears, and Harry exited the vision with a snap. Falling backwards from where he sat on his haunches, the floor under his legs gave a small creak. Harry froze, too afraid to even breathe. The conversation had stopped, and he suddenly became all too aware of how dangerous his situation was. If he was caught snooping, perhaps he would never be welcome back. The stifled silence was punctuated only by the stammering of his heartbeat, until finally, just when it was becoming unbearable, Mrs Malfoy spoke again.

“I do know what’s best for Draco, I’m his _mother_.”

Harry let out the breath he had been holding in with extra caution. Deciding he had heard enough, he crept back down the long hallway, turning the corner back onto his corridor. After relieving his aching bladder- which, until a moment ago, had been all but forgotten- he had slunk back to his room and went to bed. Muguet was waiting by the door, silently questioning where Harry had disappeared to. Harry patted the bed and watched as his friend jumped up to join him, curling up once more on the pillow. Getting comfortable, he traced his hand across the edges of the diary that was tucked safely beneath his own pillow. He would tell Tom about the strange woman and his vision when he returned safely to Hogwarts tomorrow night, in the comfort of his own bed; away from whispering voices in the night.

The next morning Harry had awoken strangely early. He rose from the bed, head spinning, and moved to pack his case. Today he would return to Hogwarts for the remainder of the Christmas holidays, where he would be able to spend some time with Ron too. After a light breakfast, Harry found himself faced with the grand coach that had escorted Draco and he to Malfoy Manor only a few days prior. It had started to snow lightly again as Draco followed him down the path, chatting some unintelligible garble about his new broomstick. Mrs Malfoy walked quietly behind them. Dobby had also left the house to bid Harry goodbye, silently cowering far behind the Malfoys.

“I wonder if that idiot Weasley is going to get anything half as nice.” He sneered as they reached the coach door. Harry frowned at him deliberately, shaking his head. Draco didn’t really hate Ron as much as he let on, although he would never admit to it. Especially not when his mother was within earshot. Harry knew that the Malfoys did not like the Weasleys at all. Draco coughed to conceal his expression, which had flushed with shame. Harry noticed that Mrs Malfoy also wore a strange look on her face.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your holidays, Harry.” She spoke in a cold tone, although her voice wavered the faintest amount. Giving him a long stare, she reached inside her cloak pocket and grasped something. Dobby shrieked. Mrs Malfoy turned to face the house elf, who snapped his bony fingers and disappeared into the snow-smattered air. She faced Harry once more, finally pulling the object free from her cloak. It was a present.

“Here,” She said, handing the box to Harry “It’s for Christmas. You’re welcome to come back and visit again, if you like.”

“Thank you, Mrs Malfoy. I will. Thank you for letting me stay.” Harry tucked the gift into his backpack with care, catching the dumbfounded stare on Draco’s face. He smirked at his friend before saying his farewells and stepping into the warm space of the carriage interior. Harry took a last glance at Malfoy Manor before the coach set off. It was a strange place, full of unused rooms and trinkets from years past. The snow had accumulated heavily in drifts around the estate, blanketing the harsh geometry of the old building with a layer of soft white. The carriage jerked into motion, and Harry waved to Draco one last time before closing the heavy curtain across the window to keep in the warmth of the stove. He curled up in the back bed, eyes trained on the glow of the hot coals, and slept. He slept all the way back to Hogwarts.

On Christmas morning, Harry found himself missing the luxury of Malfoy Manor and the company of Draco. The Dungeons were completely deserted save himself. All the other students had homes and families to return to during the holidays; Ron, however, was the exception. Mr and Mrs Weasley were abroad for the duration of the holidays, and so Ron and his siblings were to remain at Hogwarts. There was a slight issue in that Ron was in Gryffindor, and so Harry would have to be snuck into his common room if they were to spend any time together in real comfort. Harry didn’t mind.

He moved to dress, picking up his glasses from the night stand where Mrs Malfoy’s gift lay. Sitting on his bed, Harry regarded it with a curious eye. The paper was a light eggshell grey, folded to the tightest precision and wrapped in an elegant silver silken bow. Three bright-red holly berries decorated the centre of the bow. He had never received such a beautiful gift before, but he couldn’t help but shake an odd sensation that had begun to fester in the pit of his stomach. Harry was Draco’s closest friend, for all he knew. Mrs Malfoy and the strange woman were most certainly talking about him. Tom hadn’t been able to answer any of the several questions Harry had regarding the conversation; however, he seemed to have some knowledge to offer about the visions. They had been frightening and dangerous, and Harry had felt malice, determination and resentment in the deep-seated corners of his mind whilst experiencing the grisly images.

_-I have considered this possibility for a while now, Harry, but have you come across Legilimency and Occlumency in your studies yet?_

Tom had written last night, after Harry was safely tucked up in his bed in the empty Slytherin dormitories. Legilimens sounded oddly…familiar, like a word on the tip of his tongue. He had paused, glancing over to his bedside table where his wand lay.

_-I think Ollivander mentioned something about Legilimency when I bought my wand? He said Silver Lime is good for Seers and Legilimens. I didn’t know what he meant. What is it? Is it wrong? Am I wrong?_

_-No Harry, but you are powerful. I will teach you more on the next full moon, when we can talk in person once again._

Harry sighed, recalling the frustration he had felt last night. Why was Tom always so cautious and secretive? There was so much he didn’t know about his peculiar friend. Sighing again, he got up off the bed and picked up the gift. He could open it when Ron opened his gifts.

After a successful rendezvous and stealth operation, Harry sat comfortably by the fire in the Gryffindor common room with his excitable friend.

“I’m glad you’re here Harry! Though it’s a shame you have to sneak in.” Said Ron, scratching his head. His eyes fell upon the neatly wrapped present Harry had placed on the floor beside the fire.

“Did you get a present? Who’s it from?” He asked, eyes darting towards the large Christmas tree in the corner of the room to spy on his own Christmas gifts. Harry could tell he was very excited to open them but was holding back for the sake of his friend.

“Why don’t you get your gifts and we can open them together Ron?” He said with a grin, watching Ron’s face light up as he made a mad dash for the tree. His eager smile reminded Harry of himself, not even four months ago. He had changed so much, and so quickly. He felt stronger. Smarter. Tom’s advice had given him confidence and self-worth. Had he really been so weak and child-like when he lived with the Dursleys? A shout pulled him from his self-reflection. Harry’s eyes settled on Ron, who stood wearing a shoddy, burgundy jumper. A large, golden letter ‘R’ was emblazoned the chest. Ron was almost as red as the jumper. Harry sniggered a little.

“Mum made it,” Ron grumbled, “I like them, but I have five now!”

Harry chuckled fondly at Ron, who sat down opposite him with a box of sweets in hand.

“Open yours then Harry!”

He glanced at the gift, still laying by the fire. The light was dancing around the smooth surface of the scarlet-red berries that decorated it. Picking it up, he ran a hand over the smooth paper. It was beautiful, but whatever the contents it would not compare to the gift that Tom had given him on his birthday- not even in the slightest.

“Well go on Harry, Christmas will be over before you even open it at this rate!” Ron moaned, eager to see what his friend had received, and from whom. Harry nodded, taking a small breath before tugging on the silken ribbon. Tearing away the paper, he gasped as he glimpsed the contents. It was a deep-green velvet box, and it was all too familiar. The image of this box had danced around his head as he lay sleeping in Malfoy Manor. He ran a thumb over the cool, gold clasp mechanism, flicking it open. Inside, laying innocuously on a bed of sapphire-coloured flocking, was the necklace from his vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I checked the lunar calendar and it actually was a full moon on December the 21st 1991 (Yule/Midwinter), which is kinda cool.
> 
> I know I talk about beds a lot, but bed is an amazing place so I'm not even sorry. I'll probably end up re-uploading some of the previous chapters at some point in the future, but more is to come. I have so many plans.


	8. In Which Harry has the Common Room to Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just gotta sleep off your problems

For a short while, Harry’s head spun, and he was vaguely aware of an odd, hissing noise that was rising in his ears as he stared at the jewel. He found himself unable to use his limbs when the low sound assumed control of his body. Below the hiss was the timbre of strange words, growing and falling with the blood thundering in his ears. They were broken and incomplete, and he felt himself falling deeper, desperately straining to decipher its origin.

“-rry. Harry!” A shout roused him from his stupor with a sharp snap. Ron’s hand lay resting on his shoulder and his brows were furrowed with concern. Harry shook his head to disperse the lingering haze that lay blanketed over his mind, and after tearing his eyes away from Ron’s frown he glanced at the necklace again. The hiss was no longer audible, although he dared not look at it for too long. Closing the velvet box, he placed it on the floor before the fire again and rubbed his face.

“What happened?” He murmured, more to himself than to Ron; he doubted his friend would have much information to offer on the matter.

“You just sorta…blacked out. It was like you were here, but your mind wasn’t. Are you okay? What is that thing?”

“It was a gift from the Malfoys.” Harry accepted a glass of spiced apple juice from Ron, taking a long gulp.

“Woah Harry! You don’t think it’s- _you know_ ,” Ron lowered his voice and took a sweeping glance around the room when Harry raised an eyebrow “You don’t think it’s _cursed_ , right?”

Harry paused for a moment to bring the juice to his lips again. Would Mrs Malfoy gift him with a cursed item? Why would she do such a thing? It was a logical step to assume that this was the subject of such heated debate between Mrs Malfoy and that other woman. Something didn’t feel pleasant about the whole state of affairs. Harry’s gut clenched as he remembered the gruesome image of the man’s corpse, face-down and covered in blood. He was connected to the necklace in some way.

“I- I don’t know Ron. I don’t think so- I mean, why would Draco’s mum want to curse me?” He laughed, hiding the nervous wobble of his voice with practiced ease. Ron snorted and tossed a few jelly worms into his mouth.

“She probably doesn’t want you around _precious Master Malfoy_.” Harry sent a stern glance to his friend, just as he had done with Draco before departing Malfoy Manor the day before. Ron could be as prideful as Draco and would sooner come down with Dragon Pox than admit he was friends with a Malfoy. Harry imagined it had something to do with the feud between their fathers at the Ministry, which was always mentioned whenever the three spent time together.

“Be nice Ron, I know you two have been swapping quidditch tips when you think no one is listening.” He quipped. Ron went a furious shade of red, matching both his jumper and his hair. Harry sniggered and ducked to avoid the incoming sofa cushion that had been launched in his direction.

“ _Harry!_ ”

 

He and Ron spent most of the day together, laughing and carrying on in the great hall with a set of wizard chess. They had feasted on the most delicious Christmas banquet, complete with flaming Christmas puddings and enchanted crackers. By the late afternoon, Harry had grown tired from overeating and socialising. Bidding Ron goodnight, he took a slow walk back to the Dungeons and admired the long corridors of the castle. He had dreamed of this place so frequently whilst at the Dursleys. There were so many places to explore and discover in this winding maze of stone walls and secrets.

When he finally entered the Slytherin common room, he took a lengthy stretch and placed the locket box on the sofa with care. There were many things to discuss with Tom tonight. The next full moon was not for a good while and he certainly did not wish to wait that long just to make sense of what was going on. The dungeons would be his alone for at least another week, and so tonight he could talk to Tom on the comfort of the common room sofa without fear of prying eyes.

Earlier that morning there had been a single parcel left under the tree, wrapped in silvery tissue paper. Before sneaking to the Gryffindor common room, Harry had ripped it open to reveal a cloak that rendered the wearer totally invisible; along with a peculiar note explaining it had once belonged to his own father. A large smile had grown on his lips. There were a million uses for such an object and Harry knew that it would certainly aid him in his exploration of the castle. Be that as it may, he made the decision to keep it to himself and did not use it on his way to the Gryffindor common room. Though he felt a little selfish, he didn’t want anyone to know of its existence save Tom- not even Ron or Draco.

A warm fire crackled away in the grand hearth, creating an air of comfort in the otherwise cold and empty room. His vision settled on the tree in the corner of the room, glistening with elegant silver decorations and tiny, twinkling candles. The eerie, rippling light of the lake that penetrated through the common room window scintillated across the reflective surfaces of the baubles and trinkets. Letting out a hum of approval, Harry pulled the book from his sock and fetched the magic robe, placing it next to the locket box. The ring, which had been sitting in his other sock, was positioned against the bone of his ankle painfully. Harry decided to remove it and set it down on the table before him. After fetching a quill and some ink, he curled up on the sofa and opened the hardy leather book.

Harry scribbled a holiday greeting in his best handwriting, watching as the words sank into the page and waiting for a reply. A few moments passed in the silence of the room. Tom was taking longer than usual tonight, and Harry had to force himself to swallow the lump quickly forming in his throat. Not two moments later, a blistering pain in his fingertips drove him to drop the pages onto his lap and shield his eyes from blinding light.

“What?!” He yelled, squeezing his eyes shut. A soft caress through his hair pulled a sharp gasp from between his teeth. Opening his eyes and pulling back his hand, Harry’s gaze was met with the buttons of a white shirt. Craning his neck upwards, he blinked at the familiar face that stared down at him.

“Hello my darling.” Tom crooned from where he stood, cradling the back of Harry’s head closer to his lower abdomen. There was a certain degree of force behind his grip, as though he would not let go even if Harry protested. Harry whimpered and threw his arms around the older boy, burying his head into Tom’s shirt. Although he was lithe, Tom was not soft beneath his clothes; Harry’s face was pressed against the hard wall of muscle in his stomach. He didn’t care. He was just happy that his friend was here.

“How are you here?” Harry mumbled into Tom’s shirt, letting out a soft sigh as Tom’s hands stroked his hair. He looked up at Tom again, resting his chin on the boy’s belly. Tom’s large, cool hand came up to touch the side of his face. A thumb ghosted across Harry’s lower lip, tracing the swell of his mouth for a brief second. Tom’s hand settled to cup Harry’s cheek, the offending thumb now rubbing delicate circles over his cheekbone. The intimacy of being touched in a new place caused his heart to stutter and beat loudly in his ribcage. A soft blush was beginning to kiss his cheeks, and Tom’s unwavering stare made him fidget in his seat. A second hand was buried in Harry’s hair, squeezing gently and applying the most heavenly pressure on his scalp. He allowed his lids to flutter shut and surrendered himself to his friend’s ministrations. Harry felt warmer than he ever had in his life. Without warning, the hands withdrew, and Tom moved to pull Harry to his feet. The young boy obliged wilfully, smiling as Tom took his place on the sofa only to pull Harry down onto his lap. Harry snuggled in between Tom’s legs and rested his smaller back against the hard chest behind him. Through his skin, he could feel Tom’s steady breathing. He exhaled in delight when Tom spoke, the vibrations of his words pleasantly rippling throughout his back.

“This shouldn’t be possible.” Tom said, glancing over at the diary. A hand lazily resumed its attentions in Harry’s hair, who pressed back into the touch without shame.

“I know. Today has been a very weird day.”

“In what way, my dear?” Tom queried. He watched as Harry crawled from between his legs to grasp the jewellery box he had left on the opposite end of the couch. Harry sat on his haunches and opened the box for Tom to inspect. Tom’s expression was unreadable as he gently took the box from his hands. His piercing, direct gaze flicked over the locket and settled on Harry.

“Where did you get this locket, Harry?”

“It was the gift from Mrs Malfoy I was telling you about.” Tom’s tone- although soft- demanded total obedience, and so Harry replied honestly whilst moving back to fit himself in the space Tom had made between his legs. The necklace was set down on the table, next to the ring.

“Have you touched it?” Tom said from behind Harry. The proximity of his voice sent a quiver down Harry’s back, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. He shook his head almost violently.

“Good. Whatever these items may be, they are influencing my magic. I feel altered,” He murmured low in his breath, gripping Harry’s thigh with one hand, shifting so they were impossibly close, “…more whole.”

Harry whined at the feeling of being held so tightly against Tom. The powerful grip was intimidating in a strange sort of way, yet he could not muster the energy nor the desire to complain. Wafts of warm breath were licking the shell of Harry’s ear as Tom spoke to him, and the squeeze of fingers against the tender muscle of his thigh were drawing strange sensations to amalgamate in his lower belly.

“Though I always feel at my most powerful when I am near to you.” Tom’s dulcet words were uttered so close to his ear that he could feel the brush of soft lips on his lobe. To his embarrassment, Harry released a loud, shuddering breath. He heard a silken laugh from behind. As quickly as the hand came, it vanished. Tom hummed, lounging against the couch with his arms draped over the back. Harry was vaguely aware of his own panting gasps.

“Um…Do you t-think they have something to do with why you’re here tonight?” He asked. His face was flushed, and his eyelids felt droopy. What was it about the way Tom touched him that made him feel so odd?

“Very much so. Regardless of how these items seem to be finding you, I am stronger. The ring may have strengthened my ability to use magic beyond the diary and manifest myself. Now this locket has appeared, and I find myself able to be here tonight.”

Pursing his lips, Harry squirmed where he sat. Did Draco know about all this? He pondered the benefit of asking his friend for answers.

“Sit still.” Tom gripped his arm. Harry stilled immediately, turning to look at him in apology. The older boy sat in a confidently lax position, although his body language betrayed the innate stiffness of his limbs. Tom’s elbow lay resting on the sofa arm, coming up to cover his chin with his hand gracefully. Harry, utterly overwhelmed by the brown, hooded eyes staring darkly at him from under perfectly neat hair, released another scuppered breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in. The vice-like grip on his arm relaxed and Harry swallowed, finding his throat lumpy and dry; Tom was so much more intense than usual.

“So how long can you stay out of the book now?” He asked with a slight cough. His friend raised an eyebrow, finally breaking the penetrating stare and conjuring a glass of water on the table. Harry took the glass and took a deep, grateful gulp.

“Who can say? We shall find out tonight.”

They chatted for a long while, content with the other’s company and the fire that burned away ceaselessly in the hearth. Harry presented Tom with the curious invisible cloak and note, each ruminating over the unknown sender. Tom sat in silence for some time, listening intently when Harry spoke of his father. As it grew late, the dim light that filtered through the lake water into the common room windows had long since faded, and the fire subsided to a sizzling pile of embers. They had wrapped themselves in a woollen blanket when Harry started to shiver from the cool air of the large room. Cocooned within the rough yarn, he surrendered the comfort of his surroundings. Something about this moment, swathed in layers of thick wool, felt so absolute and so unreservedly natural. Gazing up at Tom, Harry took a moment to observe his pristine features for what seemed the thousandth time. A million stolen glances would still never satiate his boundless interest. Until recently, Harry’s only company had been the abhorrent Dursley family. How could a being with such poise and acumen entertain the thought of sparing him, a positively vulgar _child_ , the time of day? It was a sheer mystery. Tom seemed wise beyond his years; the taught skin of his face betrayed not a single secret, of which there were likely many. He met Harry’s eyes with a quick glance as if fully aware of his inspection.

“Aren’t you tired, darling?” Harry shook his head, letting out a stifled yawn only a few moments later. Tom chuckled low in his throat, amused at his stubborn refusal to answer the call of his weary body. Tiredness meant sleep, and sleep meant waking up alone. Always alone. Without word, Tom had picked up his wares and ushered him into the dormitory rooms, where Harry changed into his thick cotton nightclothes. Muguet was already sleeping soundly on the pillow, his snowy-white fur gently rising and falling with his steady respiration. Harry gazed at his bed and took in the silence of the dormitory. Being alone with Tom in a room that was usually full of other students felt so private in the strangest of ways. A sudden touch to his shoulder elicited a small jerk from Harry, who turned into the contact to observe its source. Tom softly brushed away a few loose strands of hair that always seemed to make their way over Harry’s eyes.

“Say, Tom…” Harry began, wilfully earnest in his evermore drowsy state “Do you think- will you be here in the morning?”

A frown passed over Tom’s brow as he moved to pull back the bed sheets. He spoke away from Harry, occupied with finding a suitable location for the gifts he had received that day. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling of avoidance that usually presented itself whenever he and Tom spoke.

“Harry- while I have gained some control, do not entertain the possibility of the unlikely. It will leave you disappointed. This is a lesson I learned from a young age. Expectation is a fool’s sentiment which begets only dissatisfaction.” Ignoring the sting of his words, Harry situated himself between the sheets, displacing his sleeping cat with an apologetic nudge. Muguet let out a grumbling mewl, clearly irate at the interruption of his blissful catnap.

“You have never done anything to leave me dissatisfied.” Harry muttered whilst shoving his face deeply into the pillow. The thought of Tom thinking him foolish left a bitter taste in his mouth. Tom chuckled at Harry’s petulance, finally coming to sit on the edge of the bed. Harry felt the dip in the springs of his mattress and turned his head to contemplate his company. Noticing the glasses that were askew between the pillow and Harry’s face, Tom leaned to remove them. Turning the small, metal frame over in his hands a few times, he placed them on the night stand with care. Without the aid of his spectacles, Tom was now nothing more than a hazy blur in Harry’s line of sight.

“You may learn truths about me that you do not wish to know. Perhaps you will even tire of my company altogether. And while I will always hold you, my precious boy, in the highest of regards, it is very likely that your opinion of me will sour someday.”

Harry blushed at his flattery. He found himself longing to witness the expressions of Tom’s handsome face as he spoke, wondering if the tiny shifts and twitches of his facial muscles would betray some deeper intention behind his words. Harry suspected the removal of his glasses had been a calculated move. Almost everything Tom did seemed calculated, and he had begun to notice this a lot more recently. Maybe he had grown smarter; although it was also conceivable that he just knew Tom a little better than before. With a small whine of frustration, he turned over to face the cloth of the bed post curtain that hung from the other side.

“I could never tire of you, not ever! You’re…you’re not being fair. You know everything about me and I don’t know anything about you! You won’t give me a chance to get to know you-” He curled in on himself, feeling the bed behind him dip further as Tom laid close against his back “I want to know more about you.”

Harry felt him freeze where he lay, and a long pause settled over the room with a deafening stillness.

“I-” Tom hesitated, taking in a deliberate breath to maintain his composure. Harry felt it tickling the fine hairs at the base of his nape. “I don’t know, Harry.”

Ignoring the unpleasant friction between his pyjamas and the bed clothes, he shifted to lie on his other side, face to face with Tom. While his finer features were unclear, Harry could still make out his general expression from this distance.

“ _Please_ , Tom.” He begged, brows densely furrowed in desperation. He was so close to getting information, an exchange of their innermost experiences- _anything_ of a personal nature from Tom, so close-

“I do not wish to taint you.” Tom draped a heavy arm over Harry’s waist and shut his eyes, and Harry felt the harsh tug of disappointment rising in his chest. He had endured more than enough ambiguity to last any one person a lifetime and only wished for candour on the odd occasion.

“I don’t understand.”

“Tomorrow I will teach you what I know on the subject of _Legilimency_ and _Occlumency_. You should get some rest.”

Tom changed the subject as easily as sliding a knife through warm butter, leaving Harry at a loss for words. He squinted at the face before him. Tom had not re-opened his eyes, signalling that the conversation would not progress further if he was pressed for more. After a period of silence, Harry began to worry that he had been overly intrusive and became embarrassed at his own forthright questioning. His face flushed, suddenly wanting Tom to be nearer, closer, as close as possible. He brought his hands up to cling to his friend’s shirt in need. Hands that crumpled themselves within the white fabric were swiftly stilled by Tom’s larger hand, now removed from Harry’s waist.

“ _Tom_.” Harry whimpered, frantic for some sign of approval from the boy before him. Tom took a hand in his own, threading their digits together tightly. Harry’s ribcage felt tighter.

“I know- It’s alright,” He purred, rubbing a thumb over Harry’s “I know you don’t mean to pry. You’re a curious boy. Now hush. Sleep.”

Tom uncoupled their hands, much to Harry’s dismay, only to pull the smaller body closer to his own. Not another word was uttered. That night, Harry barely slept a wink with the knot in his stomach and the fluttering sensation in his chest. When he finally nodded off, there were no dreams to be had. He woke to a cold bed on Boxing Day alone.

\---

Harry made the most of his solitude during the Christmas holidays and explored the castle’s many corridors and rooms with the aid of his wonderful new cloak. He and Ron played the occasional game of Wizard's Chess in the great hall after meal times. After the students returned and lessons resumed, the rest of the year passed rapidly. His grades were mostly excellent, as were his skills in casting magic. Tom’s extra tuition honed his abilities and helped him keep up in classes he would otherwise struggle with. There was, in particular, a decidedly grumpy potions teacher called Snape who took an immediate dislike to him. He certainly wasn’t the _most_ knowledgeable student, but he could answer some, if not many, of the questions barked in his direction. The snooty girl from the train seemed to have absorbed all the information in her potions textbook and was always trying her hardest to relay it to the Professor. Snape didn’t appear to like her much either. Harry, on the other hand, had somewhat changed his opinion of her. She was intelligent, and that meant Harry could at least tolerate being in her company for a short while.

Outside of lessons, he had fallen into a comfortable routine of spending time with Draco and Ron, studying in the library and talking to Tom in the evenings. Strangely, Draco never questioned him about his permanent contact with the book, which Harry found decidedly odd but nevertheless enjoyed the lack of complaint. The locket had remained hidden in his drawer for months.

It was a dreary morning in April when he heard talk of a dormitory search over breakfast in the great hall. Musing over a slice of crispy, hot-buttered toast, Ron came to sit with them at the Slytherin table. Harry and Draco stared at each other in bafflement; their red-headed friend hated sitting at the Slytherin table and only did so when absolutely necessary. This was mostly due to the fierce rivalry between the two houses, but Harry also suspected it had something to do with the snide comments and cruel jokes that Ron pretended not to hear.

“Hey, you lot better hide anything suspicious that you have in the dorm room!” He said with a mouthful of toast, “Someone set off an ever-bouncing ball in one of the upstairs corridors and it’s smashed a whole load of windows. Filch went bloody bonkers- Dumbledore’s ordered all the dorm rooms to be searched for banned items just to calm him down! They did Gryffindor and Ravenclaw this morning so you’d better hurry!”

Looking at each other for a split second, the two Slytherins stood up at lightening speed and pelted towards the common room. Harry knew that if the necklace was found, it would likely be treated with great suspicion. The cloak was tucked in amongst his own clothes and was probably safe enough. They arrived in the nick of time before the house elves appeared, with a very pissed-off Snape in tow. Harry couldn’t help it. In his panic to hide the necklace, he elected to throw all caution to the wind and chance wearing it, slipping the ring onto the chain as well. It felt heavy against the pale skin of his breastbone as he picked up a random textbook to disguise his visit back to the dorms so close to classes beginning. Snape eyed him dubiously but allowed him to leave undisturbed.

The necklace didn’t seem to do much; if anything, it felt good, so Harry continued to wear it around his neck. He was also immensely grateful for somewhere else to keep the ring besides his sock. His poor ankles had suffered enough. In the end, Draco had caught him wearing it and had asked why in _Merlin’s name_ was he was sporting a necklace. Harry simply commented on the fact it had been a gift from Mrs Malfoy. Nevertheless, Draco had unwittingly resolved one uncertainty: he hadn’t known that his mother gave Harry the locket. That meant, at least in part, that Draco was trustworthy. He liked Draco but had been forced to suspect him of being privy to his mother’s weird behaviour. Now he felt as though a weight had been removed from his shoulders. Come evening, Harry’s mood had lightened.

On days when Tom visited in his physical form, which was now at least once a week, Harry sometimes caught him staring at the glittering pendant, or absentmindedly stroking it as they lay close together. He had never fancied Tom as someone who liked jewellery all that much. Initially they had been very wary of any side effects or curses, but now Harry loathed to be without it.

“You wear it magnificently.” Tom had said one night as Harry reclined on the bed, curtains drawn, reading a book on transfiguration out loud to Tom. He had reached out to pluck the pendant from where it lay flat on the creamy skin between Harry’s open collar. The sensation of hands brushing against his collarbone was pleasant, and he replied with a small sound in the depths of his throat. He observed as Tom’s slender fingers worried over the green gemstones, which shimmered as they caught light from a new angle.

“Were I able, I would gift you gemstones far more brilliant than this. Although, it is lovely.” Harry felt a creeping redness in his cheeks but was unsure why Tom’s statement brought out such shyness in him.

“What use do I have for jewellery? I’m not a bloody girl.” He grumbled, burying his face deep in the pages of his textbook. The sly smirk on Tom’s face only infuriated him more.

“One does not need to be a woman to enjoy finery, Harry.” Harry grumbled again, pausing as Tom took one of his hands in his own to examine the skin. The calluses on his palms from doing housework at the Dursleys were quickly softening with under-use, albeit the ones on his wand hand were taking a little longer to go.

“But I do think the ring would look marvellous on your fingers.” Tom teased, smirk never leaving his lips. Harry scoffed, picking up his pillow to launch towards his head.

“Oh, _come off it_ you sod!” He laughed as the other brought up an arm to deflect the blow as if it were a feather. The pillow bounced on Tom’s arm, landing down the side of the bed between the curtain. Harry went to grab it, moving the curtain aside very slightly. Through the darkness of the room, he saw Draco sitting in his bed with eyes fixed on him. Harry’s smile dropped immediately as they stared in silence for what felt like an age. Finally, Draco looked around and whispered.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Harry’s heart began to pound loudly as Draco got out of bed, creeping towards his own. He didn’t dare turn to see if Tom was still there for fear of being caught. Pushing himself up, he sat on the edge of the mattress and moved the curtain as little as possible.

“I, uhm, sometimes have bad dreams and kick a lot in the night.” He fibbed, squeezing the pillow tightly in his arms. Though the light was low, Draco regarded him with a small frown.

“But you were smiling?” The blond asked, eyes flickering momentarily behind Harry to the small crack in the curtains. Heart in his throat, he took a small gulp of air.

“Yes, I’m just happy to have woken up you know? They can be quite scary.” He let out a nervous laugh, watching Draco’s every move. Where others were easily manipulated with a careful choice of words and the appropriate elocution, Harry had always found Draco a little more difficult to satisfy; though it was not impossible. His friend was silent for a few more moments and stared at the locket. The weighty ring dangled next to it, pulling the chain taught around Harry’s neck, and for a second he saw Draco scowl.

“What’s-?” He started, “Never mind. It’s super late and we’ve got Snape first thing tomorrow morning. G‘Night.”

Draco muttered and turned to jump back into bed.

“Night Draco.” Harry replied, turning as well.

“Harry.” Draco’s voice cut through the thick atmosphere, but Harry didn’t dare move around under his gaze. “Don’t forget to take your glasses off before you sleep this time, else you’ll have to repair them again.”

He heard the sound of rustling bedclothes from behind him while Draco settled back down between the sheets. In amongst the sound of his own ears ringing in the silence of the room, he loosely registered a swallowing sound as he attempted to rid the lump in his throat. He knew his friend all too well to recognise when he was suspicious about something. Still holding his breath, he took off the spectacles sitting on his nose and placed them on the bedside table. He climbed back through the curtains carefully and finally emptied his lungs when they were closed. Tom was still there, resting languidly on one side and head propped up on a wrist. Harry let out a huff of relief.

“Whatever is the matter? There’s no harm done.” Tom said, shifting over to allow the boy to curl up inside him. Their eyes met for a brief interval before Harry tore his gaze away. He felt cool fingers thread through his hair, teasing the knots from each coarse strand with delicacy.

“He’s suspicious. He saw my locket the other day.” He stated, furrowing his brow. Tom let out a snort that was quite discordant to his usual elegant character.

“Let him suspect, I will never allow him to see me.” There was a confidence in his voice that would have eased Harry’s anxieties on a normal day, and Harry groaned.

“It’s not just Draco, I’m worried about everyone! I haven’t been in the wizarding world very long but even I know that you, this book- this situation- are unusual. What if one day you forget to put up your silencing charms?” He wailed, bringing his palms up to cover his face and hide his pitiful expression from Tom. Although Harry knew that wouldn’t happen, as Tom’s ability to cast had improved exponentially since he received the locket, it was pointless to try and stop the tears that prickled the edges of his eyes. It was frustrating how little Tom seemed to worry about the particulars of their odd companionship. Maybe, Harry reasoned, it had something to do with being trapped in that diary for so long. How long had he been in that hedge, exposed to the elements, slowly rotting in a forgotten pile of leaf litter and soil? If Harry hadn’t found him, what then? He found his mind dwelling on decay and the smell of damp.

“Harry, you know I won’t.”

“I know, _I_ _know_ , but,” Harry protested, sniffling and rubbing at his face harshly, “Urgh, Tom!”

He turned his back towards Tom’s chest, cheeks burning. For a while, they sat in silence, and Harry allowed himself to be comforted by the hand that had returned to his tresses. Soft breaths ghosted over the flank of his head, prickling the skin of his scalp as it lightly disturbed the strands of hair.

“Are you feeling better, dearest?” Tom sang into Harry’s ear, taking his chin in hand and deftly turning his head so that they might address one another directly. Harry blinked and rubbed his face again. The dark caverns of Tom’s eyes were close to his own and he found it difficult to think about much else other than how close they were, how he felt those calming breaths rolling over his cheek like waves lapping against the ocean shore.

“Yes. Sorry. I just got worried.” Harry gave a small laugh, pulling himself away from the cage of Tom’s body to tuck himself under the heavy quilt.

“You’ve helped me so much with getting into Hogwarts and my magic, I bet you’re bored by now.”

“Nonsense,” The older boy replied sternly, “Not at all. Perhaps you’d feel comfortable if we could talk someplace a little more private when I exit my diary. Would this assuage your worries of being found?”

“What? Where?” Allowing the corners of his mouth to curl upwards slightly, Tom took delight in Harry’s sweet, eager face. He pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of his head. Harry protested and scratched the spot that had been kissed, trying to rid himself of the tingle that lingered there.

“Barely anyone knows of it, and even fewer have found it. It is good for hiding things.” Tom explained, lowering his voice. Harry’s eyes glittered regardless of the yawn escaping his lips.

“Okay,” He turned over to bury his face in Tom’s white shirt, already falling asleep, “Next week we should find this place.”

Harry felt as though nothing could touch him when they slept close together like this. Well, he didn’t know if Tom slept, but he was too tired to think anymore today. He had been exceptionally tired this fortnight gone. Answering the pull of his slumber, he closed his eyes and allowed his body to relax. He was _so tired_. Mere instants before unconsciousness took him, he was partially aware of the sound of Tom’s voice. Was it real, or simply the seedlings of a dream yet to grow in his head? Harry did not know, and sleep came all the same.

_“I wish to keep you, and hide you away from this evil world.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of a sudden you're in this magical new world and all these strange items are ending up in your possession. So...wouldn't you freak out a little? As for the locket- I don't think I could resist wearing something so pretty (even if it was cursed). Love me some bling.
> 
> These chapters are constantly getting longer. My writing style changed so much since I started this story years ago and I'm in the process of editing some of the first few chapters. I'll let you know if I make any important edits but I will try to keep them to a minimum.


	9. In Which Harry Visits the Headteacher's Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Moonlight_Jasmine bc YOU'RE THE BEST <3  
> Snape you're such a dickhead sometimes I swear

It was the next morning when Harry awoke with a sharp jolt. Rubbing a hand through his messy hair, he shook away the last remnants of sleep from his head. It had been another night of dreamlessness; nevertheless, he found upon waking his pulse was quickened and cold beads of sweat speckled the edge of his hairline. Or had he dreamed, only to forget? There was no way to tell. Whispered words teetered on the precipice of his conscious self, although he could not remember what they were, nor who had uttered them. He wiped the perspiration away with the sleeve of his nightshirt. Ignoring the persistent weariness that usually accompanied him until the late morning, Harry sprang from his bed. Draco was also readying himself for the morning, and they dressed in a slightly strained silence. It was evident that he had not forgotten their encounter the night before. Harry felt himself being stared at from time to time but elected to ignore it in favour of acting as though nothing had happened. Finally, Draco spoke.

“I wish we were playing quidditch today instead.” He moaned, moving to pick his textbook up from the bedside table. Harry paused to regard the blond boy who was staring at him expectantly.

“Um, yes, me too.” Harry replied. He was eager to overlook last night altogether and get the day over with. When he wanted to be, Draco could be surprisingly thoughtful- only when he wanted. Most of the time he was snobbish, rude and arrogant to those he disliked. He was also snobbish, rude and arrogant to those he liked; poor Ron, for example, had endured a verbal onslaught of family-related insults, although now it seemed as though their father’s feud had become somewhat of a running joke between the two. Harry never seemed to find a frown on Ron’s face after he and Draco had exchanged their barb-tongued quips.

“Harry!” Draco’s voice cut through Harry’s bleary train of thought, “Don’t just stand there, you fool! Snape will kill you if you’re late- _again!_ ”

He nodded, checking the time on his wristwatch. Snape’s dislike of him was common knowledge. Once he had been late after staying up until midnight with Tom, and Snape had made him scrub all of the dirty cauldrons following a class that had been making Hiccoughing Potion. Harry’s hands were itchy for the rest of the night and Tom had almost cursed Snape himself. Scratching at his palms absent-mindedly, he let out a small cry when he felt himself pushed backwards as Draco’s pillow made contact with his face.

“Oi! What was that for?!”

“Because you’re still standing there like a total idiot.”

“Argh! Draco!”

“Whatever, _Potter_.”

They snorted at each other for a few moments and Harry dressed hastily. The end of the year was quickly approaching, and next week they would have to take their first end-of-year exams. After then, he wouldn’t have to suffer the repugnant Dursleys for the entirety of July and August as he had been invited to both Malfoy Manor and Ron’s house. For the past two weeks he had studied diligently in the evenings, reading his textbooks to Tom and making notes where he was unsure. This was perhaps why he had been feeling so exhausted at the end of each day; that and the magical objects hanging around his neck. Harry pressed his hand to feel the bulky outline of the ring where it sat underneath the second button of his shirt. Something about the ring had always felt different to the locket. While he’d had some reserves about wearing the necklace, Harry dared not wear the ring. There was a part of him that had come to fear it, even the parts that loved it dearly. He cherished it deeply and _loathed_ to be separated from it even for a second, yet despite his yearning he could not bring himself to wear it.

“Harry, _come ON_!” Draco urged, tugging on his cloak and pulling him from his second daze of the morning.

“Alright, alright! I’m coming for Merlin’s sake…”

Snape’s lesson, thankfully, passed very quickly and without any hiccups. Harry’s last lesson of the day was Transfiguration, a subject he greatly enjoyed and, in his opinion, had quite a talent for. Professor McGonagall had almost smiled after Harry had managed to change his match into something that resembled a needle on only his third try. She was strict but made sure to give credit where it was due. Plus, he admired her ability to transfigure herself. After the class had packed up their school books and scurried away from McGonagall as she announced revision topics to remember for the next lesson, Harry waved goodbye to Ron and headed towards the Slytherin common room with Draco.

It was a warm afternoon; the sun still blazed away in a cloudless sky. Harry had loosened his tie and undone his shirt collar button as they walked side-by-side down towards the dungeons. The air inside the castle was pleasantly cool compared to the heat in the courtyards. An agreeable breeze moved through the corridors in gusts and lulls, chilling the sweat on Harry’s neck. He wondered if Tom could feel the heat of his body through the diary, and if it was uncomfortable being stuck down his sock on such a hot day. The book was inactive, which Harry took as a sign that his friend was quite content with his location.

“Wouldn’t it be great to go for a swim?” He mused, fanning himself with a piece of scrap parchment when the breeze dropped briefly. Beside him, Draco snorted.

“Yeah, but I don’t fancy finding out what’s lurking in the lake. You can’t tell me you haven’t seen some of the stuff that’s swimming around in there through the common room windows!”

“I think it would be fine. Hagrid told me the giant squid is quite docile.” He liked Hagrid and always enjoyed his company. On the odd occasion they crossed paths, the huge man took interest in how Harry’s studies were going and if he was enjoying Hogwarts. Their conversation usually tended to veer towards their shared interest in magical creatures before long. He reflected on a memory of the Leaky Cauldron, and the time he and Hagrid spent there together after he took Harry away from the Dursleys.

“Harry, you’re mad.” He sent Draco a playful jab in the arm in response as they began to descend the stairs down to the dungeons. The ambient air around them was already cooling off, even without the delightful draft, and Harry was glad they no longer had to study in the stagnant heat of the classrooms.

“Oh, hang on- I think I’ve left my quill in the classroom,” He said, rifling through his robe pockets “Do you want to come with?”

He would most certainly be in need of it later; the coloured pencils he owned were long forgotten, replaced by the novelty of his quill. Merlin, he felt like groaning in shame at the thought he had once used them to write and draw in the diary with.

“No, I’m far too hot, I think I’ll head down to the dorms where it’s cooler. I’ll meet you there.” Draco replied, untucking his shirt and slicking back strands of hair that had loosened from their places against his scalp.

“Okay, I won’t be long.”

Advancing back up the stairs and down the corridor again, Harry made his way to the Transfiguration classroom at a slow and leisurely pace. There was no sign of the Professor, save for the few scrolls of parchment lying on her desk. He located his own desk and picked up his quill.

“There you are.” He murmured with a smile. The skin in contact with the dark leather of Tom’s diary was now really starting to itch in the heat and he was eager to talk to his closest friend, as he usually was. So, quill in hand, he left the classroom and set a brisk pace back to the dormitories.

Harry arrived at the common room in good time, to his delight. It was mostly empty- presumably due to the students not yet back from their lessons. Draco sat on one of the huge sofas with his back turned to the common room entrance. He had discarded his robe and stretched his arms over the top lip of the settee in his usual position. Another student sat next to Draco. Harry couldn’t tell who it was from the back of his head, although an educated guess would be Gregory Goyle or Vincent Crabbe. It seemed that Draco knew them both even before they were in school, and they had taken to following him around from time to time. Harry had not taken the time to speak to them. He observed Draco and company in silence; so far, they remained unaware of his presence behind them.

“Why are you always spending so much time with _Potter_? His mum was a _mudblood_. I thought your parents didn’t approve of him. Father said he even stayed at your house over the Christmas holidays!” Crabbe-or-Goyle said whilst unwrapping a bar of chocolate and stuffing it into his mouth. Harry found him nauseating. He knew that people talked about him frequently since his supposed defeat of some dark wizard years ago, but hearing talk of his mother was…it felt strange inside his chest.

“Goyle, I’ve already told you-” Draco started, spinning about to eyeball Harry with all the grace of a deer in headlights when he heard his voice cut through.

“What was that you said?” Goyle, as his name was revealed, mimicked Draco’s horrified stare as Harry spoke and took slow steps around to the front of the sofa. Draco sent Goyle an acerbic look and rose to stand next to Harry.

“Let’s go Harry, this fool is not worth our time.” Harry regarded him for a moment, unsure whether or not to be upset with Draco; although, it sounded like he _was_ going to defend him before being interrupted. Deciding to let it drop for now, he returned his icy gaze to poor, trembling Goyle.

“I want to hear what he has to say about my mother, since he knows so much.” Harry spoke calmly and folded his arms, daring Goyle to speak. The boy fidgeted under the pressing weight of their glares.

“Uhm…Nothing Harry, uh-” He muttered whilst averting his eyes to the fireplace, long empty due to the summer heat.

“Oh- it’s _Harry_ now, is it? And here I thought my name was ‘Potter with the mudblood mother’.” Harry snorted. He had regained a semblance of control over the emotions that had been freefalling inside him, and was now taking great pleasure in watching Goyle attempt to explain himself. There was something _so satisfying_ about making the pathetic boy squirm. Harry deliberated over whether that made him a bad person, but decided against self-assessment.

“I’m- I didn’t mean…I’m sorry!”

“Merlin! That will never do, Goyle. Whatever are you going to do to make it up to me? I’m afraid I’m terribly upset. I’m sure Draco is too…well, it would certainly be such a _shame_ if your father lost his job before the week is through.”

Feigning hurt, he turned to Draco whilst raising an eyebrow. His friend’s lips quirked upwards into his famous smug grin. It was common knowledge that Mr Malfoy held a great amount of power and sway within the Ministry and encompassed many other businesses; therefore, Goyle quickly realised that it was foolish to anger Draco, and by extension, Harry. Harry grinned back at him. It was nice to have Draco as a friend as they understood each other quite well.

“Oh please! Don’t tell Mr Malfoy, Draco, my dad would be furious! I’m so sorry- I’ll do anything! I promise!”

“I’ll let you know when we have use for you.” Harry said, coldly shaking off the hands that were desperately grasping onto his shirt. Goyle looked as though he might explode. Waving a hand lazily in dismissal, he watched as Goyle sprinted from the common room. Plopping himself down onto the sofa, he picked up a textbook to start his exam revision. Draco hesitated for a moment before sitting down as well. Feeling eyes on the side of his head, Harry sighed.

“I know you want to say something Draco. Please, just spit it out.”

“I wasn’t…” Draco began, brow furrowing. Harry imagined he had never had to apologise to anyone in his life.

“I know. It’s okay. Why do your parents let you hang around with me, anyway? I’m not a pureblood.”

“I don’t know Harry, but I don’t want to ask in case they change their minds. Although- they still don’t know we hang out with Weasley, and it should stay that way. Father really would have a heart attack and I’d probably end up in Durmstrang.”

They chortled at each other for a short while and finally settled down to study; Goyle was forgotten, and all was well. That night, he and Tom discussed blood lineage in depth. Harry received the slight impression that Tom was hiding his true feelings on the matter. He was, however, oddly enraged at Goyle’s insults, despite the fact that Harry’s mother was a muggleborn witch. Harry’s hand felt numb from writing by the end of their conversation. They said their fond goodnights, and he settled down with Tom tucked safely underneath his pillow and Muguet resting at the foot of the bed, just as he had done many nights before.

The next morning, he was awakened by the shrill pierce of screams. Feet were pounding on the floor, back and forth, followed with shouts and cries of the other students. Harry opened his eyes to the sound of someone crying and pulled back the curtains of his bed. Muguet was awake, hair on his back raised and tail on edge. A group of students were huddled around someone in the far corner of the dormitory, and so he rose, shuffling over to the commotion to investigate. Draco was standing with the group as Harry approached.

It was Goyle, screaming and sobbing, desperately poking around at red-raw gum in his mouth in disbelief. Harry gasped in shock when he realised that someone must have cursed all his teeth to fall out. In places where he prodded too hard, the delicate gum tissue ruptured. Blood pooled from the depressions where his teeth should have been and dribbled down his chin, staining the white sheets that he hovered over as he tried to collect them. His hands were shaking. Harry swallowed the heavy lump of dread in his throat. Draco and the other students were watching in silence as Goyle picked up the last of his teeth and ran out of the dormitory, likely to Madame Pomfrey.

“What the bloody hell?” Draco squeaked, turning to Harry “Harry…you didn’t…did you?”

“Of course not! I don’t know _how_ to do that, even if I wanted to!” He yelled, partly at Draco, partly at the Slytherins eyeing him with horror and suspicion. He had been angry at Goyle, but this seemed like a cruel joke to play on someone. Draco stared at the bloody mess of sheets on Goyle’s bed and clutched his mouth, turning green.

“I think I’m gonna be sick-” He darted from the room, leaving Harry alone with the others. Most of them tried to ignore him and went back to their business. Some stared and did nothing to conceal their obvious whispers of speculation. He glared at the floor to block them out. There was a small trail of blood droplets leading from Goyle’s bed to the door, and he had to swallow again to fight against his own rising nausea. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had a decent idea of who was behind this gruesome curse. Tom was a talented wizard. It was likely. Tensing his jaw, he strode over to his own bed and got changed.

Today was Saturday, which meant no lessons, but with his exams next week he would have to do some last-minute studying. He was about to pick up Tom along with his studying supplies, when Professor Snape stormed into the dormitory. Harry knew he was coming for him.

“Professor, I didn’t do anything!” Snape’s dark eyes locked with Harry’s as he strode over and grabbed him by the collar.

“ _Headmaster’s office, Potter. NOW_.” Snape practically dragged him from the dormitories and through the common room in front of the entire house of Slytherin. Harry panicked. Tom was still under his pillow, vulnerable to anyone who chose to go snooping through his things. Nearly letting out a cry, he realised he had never been separated from Tom, not for a single minute, in the entire time he had been at Hogwarts. He felt isolated and alone in ways he had not felt for a long time. It was if he was being ripped away from a piece of his own self.

“Professor _please_!” Harry began to beg, “I need to-”

“You will be QUIET Potter! I don’t want to hear another _word_ out of you until we’ve reached the Headmaster’s office!”

Tears pricked his eyes, but he fought them back lest he face further shame and humiliation in front of his fellow Slytherins. The feeling worsened as the distance between him and the diary widened. He entered a strange sort of quasi-trance, succumbing to the sensation of Snape’s harsh tugs on his collar. Before long, he was facing Professor Dumbledore in the Headmaster’s office. Snape was hissing accusations at the elderly man with a vigour Harry couldn’t have expected. His chest was in pain and he felt faint.

_I need Tom. I need Tom. I need TOM!_

“-And now he will have to spend the _entire week_ in the infirmary. I hope you’re pleased with yourself Potter. Professor Dumbledore, this boy is clearly guilty, and should be expelled!”

His head pounded and his eardrums were sensitive. Harry went to protest but was silenced when Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him. He stood from his chair, stepping to descend the few stairs towards the boy. It was the first time Harry had been able to observe him this closely. He walked with all the confidence of a wise man.

“Now, now, Severus, let us not be rash. I do not believe that Young Harry here is capable of such a complicated curse.” Dumbledore mused, turning to his desk and picking up a small, silver bowl. Harry craned his neck to look at the contents as the old man stretched out a hand and held it in offering. It was filled with yellow boiled sweets.

“Sherbet lemon?” He asked. Harry shook his head quickly, too afraid of the wrath of Snape to move. Dumbledore simply shrugged, popped one into his own mouth and set the bowl back onto his desk. Snape visibly burst a vein in his temple.

“Headmaster, who else would have done this? From what I’ve heard Potter here took issue with something that Goyle said to him yesterday, and-”

“Be that as it may, this magic is far too advanced for a first-year. I’m sure Harry won’t mind us taking a look at his wand to ascertain the last enchantment he cast. In the meantime, Professor, would you mind leaving Mr Potter with me? I have something I wish to discuss with him.”

Snape stared for a minute before grumbling under his breath and stalking from the room. The door slammed loudly behind Harry’s back, causing him to flinch. He was now alone with Dumbledore, a man whom he hadn’t so much as exchanged a ‘Hello’ with since the start of the year. He regarded Harry curiously for some time and then smiled.

“How do you like Hogwarts, Harry? Are you studying hard for your exams? It’s not long until the summer holidays now.” Stunned at Dumbledore’s sudden and unexpected question, Harry stuttered.

“Sorry? Oh, I er, I really love Hogwarts, Professor. I’m having a great time here, and I really don’t want to go home. I guess it’s okay though, since Ron has invited me to come and stay with him over the summer. I’ll probably go and see Draco as well.”

“Ah, yes, that is what I wished to discuss with you.” Wandering back to perch in his chair behind the wooden desk, Dumbledore sighed and re-adjusted his half-moon glasses.

“Professor?” Although he hoped it was not bad news, Harry told himself he should have seen it coming, in retrospect.

“Unfortunately, Harry, I must insist that you remain with your family this summer.”

“What? Professor, no! Please! Mrs Weasley has already said I could come! Ron said I won’t be a bother!”

“Alas, I cannot allow it if the Dursleys have not. They are your legal guardians after all. You will understand, in time. I am sorry.”

“…Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Harry! Don’t forget to leave your wand on my desk. Merely a precaution. I would also stress that if you happened to know who the real culprit is, it would be wise to inform me immediately.”

Harry felt as though he was going to explode. Setting his wand down on the desk, he gave the old wizard a quick glance before turning and striding from the door. He stormed back to the dungeons. During his time in Dumbledore’s office, his mind was utterly distracted with thoughts of what may have happened to his beloved friend lying beneath his pillow. By the time he had reached the dorm room, he was neither in the mood to study or socialise with anyone but Tom. Draco, who had recovered from the earlier bout of nausea, made a feeble attempt to speak to him. He quickly left Harry to his devices after receiving no reply. Harry tore his pillow from its resting place, content to find Tom safe. Grabbing the diary and a quill, Harry paced from the dungeon and made for an empty room he had discovered recently. He suspected it was also known to some of the older students and so he was usually a little reluctant to use it, but today was an exception.

_-Tom._

He wrote, hand shaking in anger. Feeling his eyes sting with tears, he attempted to prevent them from dripping onto the paper. One slid over and plopped onto the page, soaking into the rough paper. He couldn’t go back to the Dursleys’ house. He _wouldn’t_.

_-Harry, are you crying my darling?_

Holding back his sniffles and rubbing his eyes again, Harry wrote back furiously.

_-No, of course not! I’m just very angry. Dumbledore says I have to return to the Dursleys instead of going to Ron’s this summer. Plus, someone cursed Goyle this earlier this morning and everyone thinks I did it. Snape dragged me to the office before I even had time to pick you up._

_-I felt you were absent. I missed you._

_-I missed you as well, but why did you have to curse Goyle like that? It’s made things…difficult._

He knew he had no evidence to support his accusation, but who else could have done it? There was no reply for a while and Harry worried he had insulted him.

_-I could not allow the way he disrespected you to go unpunished, I sincerely apologise for any inconvenience I have caused as a result._

_-Really, you don’t have to do things like that for me!_

However grisly his methods, Harry couldn’t help but admit it was nice to have someone like Tom looking out for him. It gave him a sense of security that he had never felt before in his life.

_-I would do anything for you. I would curse the entire planet, if it were necessary. I do not regret my actions, Harry._

Harry felt a strange blush creep into his cheeks and rested his face against the cool masonry of a nearby stairway pillar. The room was quiet, and he was by himself; though he felt far from alone in this world.

\---

Fortunately, no evidence of malicious enchantment was found in Harry’s wand, and it was returned to him the day afterwards. Dumbledore merely smiled a curious smile and bade him good luck for his exams. The headmaster always looked at him as though he knew something, and that made Harry feel expressly uneasy in his company. Maybe he knew all about Tom? Against his better judgement, he pushed those ruminations to the back of his head for the time being; exams were fast approaching and he needed to focus on studying more than anything else.

Exam week went even better that expected. Tom helped him study and ensured he received the appropriate amount of sleep each night with lullaby spells. Harry suspected that he might have even performed better than Hermione, the golden girl of their year, in some subjects. Poor Goyle was permitted to take his exams a week after everyone else, under the strict supervision of Professor Snape. After that incident, he never so much as looked at Harry the wrong way again. In fact, he actively avoided him if they were in the same vicinity. Each time it happened he couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle to himself. Tom’s method was a little cruel and unorthodox, but most effective.

Following his final exam, Harry and Draco went down to the shore of the lake, removed their shoes and paddled in the cool water underneath the bright sunlight. Draco was reluctant at first, but eventually began to enjoy himself a lot more than Harry imagined he would. The surface of the water gleamed in streaks of crystal white, yellow and deep blue hues from the clear sky above. They stayed there until it was time for dinner, splashing about and chatting about Draco’s summer plans. Ron joined them late due to having to locate Scabbers, who had scampered off shortly after the test had ended. Harry was still dejected about having to spend it back with the Dursleys. They were most likely loathing his imminent return. The feeling was decidedly mutual, he thought with a grimace. Tomorrow they would be catching the Hogwarts Express back to London and he would have to say goodbye to his real home with its magical paintings, long corridors and magnificent halls. He sighed as he, Ron and Draco walked towards the dining hall together.

“I’ll write to you, Harry. Maybe you could sneak out and I could send the carriage to come pick you up?” Draco persisted, worried for his friend in a way that was a little unexpectedly out of character. Ron nodded next to him, chewing on some pre-dinner snack. Harry sent them a sombre smile.

“Dumbledore would know. But definitely write to me- I just know I’m going to be bored the whole summer. We can’t even practice magic.”

What was he to do to pass the time over the dull holiday weeks, while his friends spent time with their loving families in houses filled with enchantments? Tom was his only solace. Harry was sure that they would spend long nights together in the seasonal heat; and although he was forbidden from using magic outside of school, Tom was not. All was not lost.

After dinner, Harry bade Ron goodbye and returned to the dungeons with Draco, where they relaxed for a few hours before finally readying for bed. Tonight was a special night- the night Tom was to disclose the location of his secret room. Harry had been impatient for this night to arrive ever since the previous week, when Tom last exited the diary. With the promise of discovering a new hiding place still lingering at the forefront of his mind, he had folded his cloak neatly underneath a pillow, ready for their excursion. It was agonising having to wait for the others to slowly fall asleep before he opened up the diary.

_-Good evening, Tom! Where are we going tonight?_

There was an odd clenched sensation in his stomach. Being all alone in a room with Tom- what could be more thrilling? What more could they speak of that usually had to be spoken in hushed tones? What more could they do, now that they would have the privacy of an entire room without worry of unwanted intrusion?

_-Good evening, dearest, I see your memory is as sharp as ever. Tonight we shall visit a very special room on the seventh floor. Do you think you can get there with your cloak?_

_-Oh yes, of course! Only, I’ve explored parts of the seventh floor already- are you sure there’s a room there?_

Harry scribbled in quickly, pulling the cloak over his head and stuffing useful items into his pockets for later.

_-I am sure. There are many places hidden in- and underneath- this castle, you would not believe. But I do not think I should allow you to enter some of them- for your safety and my own peace of mind. Now, continue to the seventh floor, and when you arrive I shall guide you further. Be quiet, Harry. Do not get caught._

He didn’t. He was led him to a mysterious room that he had never seen before; one minute there was simply a wall, and the next an arched doorway with a heavy wooden door. Stepping through the door after checking the corridor one last time, Harry sucked in a breath.

“Oh!” The sheer size of the interior was enough to surprise him. It was large, spacious and comfortable, with a blazing fire taking up much of the west wall. Even in the summer some parts of the castle were cool, and the fire was very much welcome. Next to the fire sat a sofa large enough that it could pass for a bed. Pillows, throws and blankets were scattered around the hearthside. Harry breathed, entering the room and firmly closing the door behind him. Approaching the enormous sofa, he removed the cloak and hung it on a conveniently placed coat rack. The diary warmed in his grasp. He placed it lightly on the sofa, grinning wider as Tom materialised before him. His friend stood immediately and moved to embrace Harry.

“You did well, my darling.” Tom said, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, as had now become his habit. The younger boy merely buried his face deeper into Tom’s shirt and enjoyed the much-needed contact.

“What is this place?” Harry mumbled through layers of fabric. He sighed into the hand that had begun to pet his hair.

“This is the Room of Requirement. I found it when I was in school- it is very useful. I thought we could spend a few hours in here uninterrupted before you must return to your repulsive muggle family. Next year we can use it however we please.”

“And it just turns into whatever you need?” Harry asked, allowing himself to be led to the couch by a gentle nudge to his shoulder. He marvelled at how soft and decadent the upholstery was, running his fingers back and forth through the velvet. Tom sat and patted the space between his legs, to which Harry quickly situated himself between.

“It would appear so, although I imagine there are some limitations to its capabilities.”

“I like it. Thank you for showing me.” Craning his head around, Harry gave Tom a grateful smile. Tom, ever demure, merely returned it with a small smirk. Tom’s eyes were always the most fascinating when illuminated by dancing flames, Harry pondered. Tom brought both arms up to wrap around the younger boy, hands resting on his small stomach. Fingers pressed into his abdomen as tenderly as the paws of a settling cat. He tucked his head beneath Tom’s chin, appreciating the rumble coming from his friend’s chest when he spoke again.

“You are most welcome. Now, tell me how your final exam went. Well, I trust? You studied very thoroughly.”

Humming, Harry remained enclosed in the safety of the bone, the muscle and the warm skin of those arms. Given the chance he would never leave them. He knew they would keep him safer than anyone else could. He felt the tip of a nose delicately brush against the back of his head, and calm breath cascade down his neck. Tom sat and listened as Harry updated him on the events of the day and the overwhelming sadness of being forced to leave Hogwarts for the summer. He was at least happy that Tom had gifted him with the knowledge of the room’s whereabouts. They agreed to make full use of it come September.

Just after 11 o’clock, Tom stirred in his spot and urged Harry to shift as well. In measured silence, he rearranged their bodies so that Harry lay with his back flat against the comfort of the enormous sofa. Harry closed his eyes, letting out a comfortable sigh and listening to the crackles and hisses coming from the hearth. It was not long before he felt pressure from above.

“What are you- Tom?” Harry quizzed. Tom had situated himself on top of his body, draped over Harry like a large blanket. Glossy, dark strands of hair from the person resting on his chest tickled Harry’s chin and lower lip. Tom pulled up his head lazily to address the smaller boy. In his face, Harry saw depth, pride and confidence. Confidence in the knowledge that it was his unequivocal right to be lying exactly in this spot, staring into the farthest and darkest caverns of Harry’s self.

“Would you deny me this, Harry?” He whispered. Such tender words, such loving sounds- Harry had not known these delights in his short, gloomy life. Was his skin tingling, or was he cold? How was one supposed to feel, being close to another in this way? Tom’s face seemed impossibly near. Harry wished it to be closer with every ounce of his strength, and he did indeed feel strong. His thoughts were distant by the time he had brought his hand up to Tom’s face. Allowing his fingers to brush over soft, cool skin, Harry loved the way Tom’s intense gaze flickered to them as they gently dragged down the bridge of his nose, and down over the peak of his lips and chin. Tom kissed them as though he were kissing a leaf made of the most delicate glass.

“No,” Harry sighed out, “I would not.” He withdrew his fingers and rested them atop the crown of Tom’s head.

“I wish you had shown me this place sooner, Tom. We could have used it all year. Tomorrow we have to go back to Little Whinging. I won’t see anyone for the whole summer.”

“I’m not sure why I did not think of it before. Perhaps you are simply too distracting to think about much else.” Tom smirked at Harry, who flushed a deep pink. Their current intimacy was wholly overwhelming, and Tom was quick-witted and silver-tongued in ways that Harry could only ever dream of being.

“We- we need to go back to the dorms soon.” Harry spluttered, diverting his gaze to the stone arches of the ceiling. Tom let out a small sound of amusement. They settled into the comfortable silence of each other, disturbed only by the odd hiss and pop from the fireplace.

“You will never be lonely,” Tom said after some time, “I will be with you.”

Harry smiled. Perhaps Hogwarts was not his home, after all, for Harry truly only felt whole when he and Tom were together, wrapped in each other completely and without want for anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Wow I didn't expect this story to get so many kudos and comments while I was away (sorry for that, I've just started a PhD and I spend most of my day writing anyway, it's kinda hard to get motivated when I come home from work). But here it is! That long-awaited next chapter. I hope it doesn't disappoint! 
> 
> I wonder why Tom keeps trying to get Harry on his own? Seedy motherfucker.


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